Resident Evil: Outbreak
by Trainalf
Summary: As their home of Raccoon City unexpectedly falls into chaos around them, 8 unlikely survivors band together to escape its destruction and their deaths, forging an unlikely comradery and unintentionally finding the horrifying truth in the process. A Resident Evil Outbreak File 1 and 2 novelization. Rating soon to change
1. Prologue I

XX A/N XX

Depending on how often you skim the Resident Evil category, you may remember me doing a Resident Evil Outbreak novelization two years ago, which really was a project I did four years ago ported to this site. This a rewrite of that story.

It was my most popular work, but I've never been satisfied with it. Looking back, there were still a lot of problems with pacing and characterization. Hell, I gave the characters automatic weapons in the first five chapters and killed a lot of tension from that point on. I feel I failed my favorite game in the series and the series itself.

That said, this story will have some familiar elements, but a lot of differences in ways other than deviating from some aspects of the scenarios. This version is going to be more about the characters. There's going to be more talking and less shooting. There's going to be more emotion in it all. There's going to be more content inspired by both the Outbreak games (released content and unreleased) and the rest of the series.

I hope you enjoy this new version. They'll be a final note about the rewrite at the bottom.

X Thursday, September 24th, 1998 X

The American Midwest. The 'Breadbasket' of America, or so it was called. Agriculture was one of the main businesses that sustained the region. Even though industrialization had been growing in the area for the past decades and particularly the eastern states, the western half was still mostly rural- farms, small cities, and miles of wilderness.

There was one city that was an exception to that though: Raccoon City. It was definitely a modern city, one that would be more at home further east than nestled within the cover of a mountain range- The Arklay Mountains- and surrounded everywhere else by vast swaths of forest. Only 30 years ago it had been but a little mountain town built along a river, something much for fitting to the area.

Now, it was a modestly sized industrial city, boasting several dozen factories that produced various goods. This had given rise to other forms of business that sprung up not only to service and sustain the city, but also its population. As of the 1990 Census, the city had had a population of 79,687, and there was no doubt the number had risen since. Raccoon City was a unique city that had attracted people from all walks of life.

X

The north and eastern sections of Raccoon City were suburbs- middleclass housing where well over half the city's population lived. It was close enough to the more urban centers of the city to be convenient but close enough to the woods and mountains to seem idyllic.

It was the perfect blend to Mark Wilkins, one of the many citizens who resided in this particular suburb. The old, admittedly portly dark-skinned man had moved up here a well over a decade ago with his wife and son for the city's peaceful nature and prosperity, something that, while having slightly diminished, was still around. His family was in agreement.

At least, they were about the city peaceful nature.

"I still just don't see how they can threaten to fire you like that." His wife of 28 years was fuming.

"Sorry dear. I didn't think they'd pull my vacation time like that." Mark explained again, effortlessly picking up a set of bags and carrying them out front. "Everyone's asking for security guards now and the company's already signed the contracts. I am getting overtime pay."

"You can get overtime pay anytime. But this was the only time we could've gone on vacation." That was a subject that had filled the household for the past several times. His voice had organized a trip out east to visit some of her remaining family, and Mark had agreed to come along. Unfortunately, it just so happened to coincide with a time most of the other employees at his workplace were falling ill, necessitating the rest to pull double duty or lose their jobs. This had become apparent too late to change their plans.

Mark had insisted she and their son go anyway. They hadn't seen family for a couple of years now, and he didn't want to hold them back because he was a hard worker. She'd relented to his stubborn insistence and they were leaving this morning, although she was obviously still cross about it, insisting he let his bosses ask too much of him.

"Trust me, dear, I'm not happy about this either." Mark said in earnest as he loaded the bags into the car.

"Are you sure you'll be okay for a week?" She fretted about that the most actually. Mark wondered how he'd ever been so lucky to meet such a caring woman.

"Yeah." Mark nodded as he closed the trunk. "I can take the bus to and from work."

"But will you be _safe_?" She stressed. At her words, her husband glanced up and behind him at the trees and mountains that occupied the skyline.

1998 had been an ominous year for Raccoon City and the surrounding areas. There'd been a series of mysterious murders up in the mountains recently, and even after several months the police had not solved the mystery. September seemed to be worse, as similar murders and attacks had started to happen within the city as well. There'd been three incidents only yesterday. The police were insisting these weren't related to those in the mountain given how each instance was a different perpetrator caught or killed. They were blaming it on drugs and had vowed to crack down, but by now the citizens of Raccoon City were carrying themselves cautiously, not entirely convinced of their safety.

"I'll be fine." Mark nodded. "I've survived worse." His wife bit her lip as he said that. Mark turned as his teenage son came out of the house carrying his own bag. "Son." He stood up straight as Mark approached him and put his hands on his shoulders. "You'll keep your mother safe while you're gone?"

"Yes sir." He nodded firmly.

"Good." Mark nodded and gave him a pat on the back. "Have fun." He turned back to his wife. "You both should be going if you want to avoid traffic." She still looked less than pleased with things, but seeing her husband sound and look so sure reassured her as she gave him a hug.

"Stay safe." She told him again. "We love you."

"Love you too." Mark bid goodbye and they separated. They both waved at him as she started the car and Mark waved back as the car pulled out the driveway. He stood there a few moments longer, watching the car head down the street and around the corner. He shook his head and headed back inside his home to get ready for work. He really did regret having to do this; spending time with his family was a rare luxury, one he preferred to do while he was still young enough to move around. But he needed his job- he had bills and a mortgage to pay, and obviously support his family.

When he opened the closet in the bedroom he and his wife shared, he paused to look at the green uniform, old but pristine, hanging near the end of the line of clothes. It was his old Army dress uniform, the lieutenant colonel insignias on them still as shiny as the day he'd received them. It was hardly the first morning he'd ever paused to look at it. Mark Wilkins was very proud of his service, even two decades after the fact.

After he'd pulled on the black pants and jacket that his security uniform consisted of, he walked over his regular dresser where another memento to the past was- a framed picture showing a collection of US Army lieutenants minutes after they'd landed in South Vietnam. Mark Wilkin rarely looked at that picture. There were too many bad memories associated with it. Instead, he reached for the holster laying on top of the dresser.

Raccoon City was far from a dangerous city. Again, it was peaceful, out of the way, and had a stable job market- the Wilkins family had moved here for a reason. It was nice, but it had its underside. Crime and gangs had become more noticeable in recent years, and so the need for greater security- armed security- had come with it for some local businesses. The company Mark worked for, Scutum Security, was one of those providers.

It wasn't anything special, just a regular Beretta 92 handgun. 9mm with a 15 round capacity, it was a decent and well tested handgun that was actually fairly common in the city with private citizens and the police. Mark tucked it into his holster along with an extra magazine of ammunition and put it on. He'd never had to use it or even draw it in the 7 years he'd worked with the company, and while he was grateful for it, he never got complacent; a habit he'd carried home with him from the jungles of Asia.

He made sure to grab a few more things before locking up the house and heading out. The company had had him posted downtown for the past few weeks, somewhere the city bus service made frequent stops. A few warehouses had been burglarized earlier in the year, resulting in the loss of stocks of medicine and prompting the parent company to hire some security. It was an easy job, mostly sitting in a security office watching cameras while trucks came and went with cargo. He might be a little late getting home, but other than that, he expected it to be a perfectly routine day.

X

Raccoon City had a population of just above 100,000 people now. The Raccoon City Police Department was the force responsible for maintaining peace and order in the city and the surrounding areas, doing so with a force of approximately 389 uniformed officers. Included among this number were 42 officers that doubled as members of the Select Police Force (S.P.F), the city's equivalent of a SWAT team.

The organization was barely a few weeks old, having been hurriedly trained and organized after the city's previous special police unit had disbanded following a terrible incident that had killed most its members. But it had already made a name for itself with several very public operations designed to help restore the police department's image. The last few days in particular had had a fierce tempo to them as the police tried to clamp down on the 'drug wave' hitting the city.

Today was no exception. At the station in the middle of the city that served as the department's main hub, six members of the unit were climbing into the back of a riot van bearing the R.P.D's livery. Another two were climbing in the front cab. Each of them were wearing the padded dark-blue overalls and vest emblazoned with both the police insignia and that or their group, as well as helmets. Six members of the group carried MP5A1 submachine guns, while the other two carried Remington 870 shotguns. A M1911A pistol was secured in each of their leg holsters.

Once they were all situated, the van rolled out of the parking lot and onto the streets, preceded and followed by two squad cars from the patrol division. They were heading to the residential part of the downtown area of the city to carry out several search and arrest warrants that had been signed just that morning. There was no good single lead on the source of the recent crime wave, so they were still just rounding up persons of interest.

Once inside the van, a few of the officers decided to take off their helmets until they arrived. One of the officers centered in the middle pulled off his helmet to reveal long brunette hair that sharply contrasted with the orderly cuts or shaved heads of the other SWAT officers. What equally stood out was the way he casually leaned back in his seat, eyes closed with the seeming intention to catch a nap.

"Sleeping on the job? That's a new low for you, Ryman." The officer sitting across from the man commented. Kevin Ryman cracked an eye opened and grinned before sitting back up.

"Give me a break, Jackson. You guys want to do the same thing. It's been a busy week."

"You can say that again."

"No kidding." He got agreement from his fellow officers. The officer, Jackson, just shook his head, grinning.

"Yeah? Just don't let the brass catch you doing that." Kevin gave an unconcerned shrug.

"Hell, a suspension isn't sounding half bad right now. I wouldn't argue about getting next week off." He was joking, of course. He put in more hours than a lot of officers in the department; he just liked to have a joking façade.

"You got something planned?" Kevin gave a sly smile and reached into his pants pocket.

"Check it out." Kevin waved the two slips of paper. "Tickets the next week's Sharks game."

"Really?" The other officer eyed the football tickets with some envy. "Who you taking?"

"A new guy coming in from the Academy- Leon." While the previous special police unit had been recruited from outside people with prior experience, most of the S.P.F had been drawn from the R.P.D's patrol division. All those selected had been sent to an academy upstate for training. A second, smaller class of prospective officers had entered just before the first graduated. A few had already arrived and the rest were supposed to trickle in over the next week or two. "He seemed like a pretty cool guy. Thought I'd show him around once he got here."

"Show him the bars, you mean." Another officer down the row, Carson, corrected.

"That too." Kevin grinned. It was no secret he liked to drink- the several variations of liquor with his name on it in the break room fridge ensured that. But he wasn't going to apologize for being a fun guy.

The assembled officers stopped to listen when the radio in the front cab started blaring, the audio coming through the small window connecting it and the back area. The call was for an assault being reported near the St. Michael clock tower and for all available officers to respond. It was just one of many very similar calls that had taken up most police scanners the past several days,

"This shit is getting out of control." One of the S.P.F officers growled. Every member of the R.P.D was starting to feel frustrated with the lack of progress they were having in keeping their city safe. These killings and attacks weren't new, and it was only getting worse.

"I heard Valentine went to see Chief Irons about it." One of the officers up front commented. At the mention of one of the last member of the Special Rescue and Tactics Service (S.T.A.R.S), the organization that had preceded the S.P.F as the city's special police unit, most of the assembled SWAT officers snorted. The S.T.A.R.S unit had recruited mostly former military personnel from out of state, an elite pet project the city had done to improve its image. A lot of the police force had been less than welcoming to the unit, easing up only after most of its members had been tragically killed just a few months ago in the mountains investigating the violent crime wave that was now spreading to the city proper.

"Really? Any idea what she said?" Kevin asked neutrally. Before being picked as a founding member of the S.P.F, he'd been trying to apply for S.T.A.R.S. Aside from S.T.A.R.S being the guys who got to deal with the real bad criminals in town, the glamour and reputation had appealed to him, as did all the cool weaponry they'd had access too. But he'd been turned down on both applications. He wasn't lacking in qualifications, but apparently had 'character issues', or so the rejection letter had said. Not professional enough to be in S.T.A.R.S, but enough to be in the S.P.F. And despite that a part of him still hoped the unit would reform.

"Don't know." The officer shrugged. "But she left looking pretty pissed off."

"Huh." Kevin acknowledged. What had happened in the mountains and what had been going on was still a mystery even a few months later, and stayed so on the chief's orders. Kevin wasn't the first or the only officer to ask on the side, but even then none of the surviving members would say what happened. They'd apparently said something about monsters at first, but after the ridicule they were refusing to talk about it anymore. He'd seen some of the people brought in for the assaults here in the city. They looked like absolute shit, but they didn't look like monsters.

Ah, Kevin knew he was a sharp guy. The rest of the R.P.D weren't pushovers either Whatever this mess was, now that it had showed its face it the city, it was as good as gone.

"Alright, look alive!" The team leader called from the front cab. "We're about to reach our first suspect's location."

"Alright." Kevin grinned while he slipped his helmet back on. "Let's rock and roll!"

X

Raccoon City hadn't always looked how it did. A lot of the growth had only occurred in the past decade. Most of that was linked to the recession at the start of the decade, and the stimulus the city had given itself to get out of it. This program to improve Raccoon City up to and past the 21st Century had funded the building of numerous public facilities that had brought in thousands of new faces and new talents from around the country and even the world. But longtime residents could tell that wasn't the only thing that changed.

Cindy Lennox was one such resident who, having been born and having grown up in Raccoon City, could confirm. Her parents had moved to the city in 1971 as laborers for the extensive construction going on at the time and she'd been born only three years later. She'd loved growing up here. The city had had a close-knit community type feeling back then, when just as much of the residents lived in the mountains as they did the town and the local church had been the biggest building in town.

A lot of the building back then had been in the mountains, of what though most didn't know and the laborers weren't allowed to say. But eventually they'd started building into the city. It wasn't all bad. A zoo had been built and opened in 78, and Cindy had loved going there with the church group she was a part of. But then they'd started building factories and warehouses. Raccoon City suddenly found itself on the map, and the city really took off as more and more traffic came through and roads were built. Even then, it hadn't been so bad.

Then the recession happened. It had hit most of the residents hard. Being one of the few major industrial cities in the area, people from all over the Midwest had flocked to Raccoon in search of work. Those who couldn't find work turned to crime. The city had had less than 100 police officers then and had been ill-equipped to handle the sudden deterioration of safety. To a lot of longtime residents, it looked like Raccoon City was going to become another doomed rustbelt city.

Then there'd been relief. The 'Bright Racoon 21' plan was something the towns long residing mayor had come up with, funded by local and even international companies. The first half of the decade had seen extensive building and modernization in Raccoon City, expanding the municipal government, the emergency services, and public infrastructure. Even more housing and industrial areas had been constructed, and local businesses received tax cuts that had helped them to ride out the rough times. It had definitely saved the city, although at the cost of further removing that small town feeling the older residents so enjoyed.

Cindy's parents had retired and moved out in 93. Part of it was that lost feeling, and the rest had been mostly for their health and safety; industry created a lot of pollution and the city's crime rate hadn't completely disappeared. Cindy had decided to stay. She was still quite involved in the church here and had a lot of friends in the city. Before they'd left, they'd sold their house and used part of the proceeds to help her completely pay off a small apartment in the downtown area of the city.

She had other reasons for staying. Raccoon City was a major pharmaceutical production center. 40% of Raccoon City's economy was based on medicine and health in some way or another. Unsurprisingly, the city now held numerous schools and locations a person could learn about and obtain a career in medicine. A career helping people had appealed to the kind-hearted blond.

She'd always had an interest in Herbalism since she was a little girl. There were types of herbs that grew around the city that had surprisingly potent medical uses. A lot of that potency was used to make commercial medicine, but there were still people in the city who knew how to use only the herbs to heals wounds and even poison. They weren't limited to businesses either; a lot of homes and businesses kept some of the plants for decorations. Cindy had a few out on her apartment balcony that she took care of daily and had taught herself how to apply them medically. Despite that, she still hoped to take a professional course someday.

That wasn't a reality yet or in the foreseeable future. She'd had to work after graduating school to help support her parents when the recession had hit them hard, and even then she'd only found part time work. She had a full-time waitressing job in the evenings now, but still sent part of her income to her parents to help them with medical bills. But she still saved up whatever she had left at the end of a week in a so far meager prospective education fund.

It wasn't an easy or luxurious life, but she stayed positive every day, including today. Bundled in a light jacket, she was out on the balcony watering the several herbs there, humming a small tune to herself. Even in the fall, or any season for that water, the plants were sturdy enough to thrive.

When was done with that, she took a few moments to stand by the railing and look out at the city. There was always something strangely peaceful about looking at the outline of the top of the Arkley Mountains. In the fall when the leaves on the dense amount of trees covering the mountains started changing colors, the skyline was even more beautiful, especially if you saw it as the sun was setting or rising.

It would've been even more beautiful if there wasn't apartments and industrial smokestacks filling the sky too. She'd looked at the skyline so much growing up it was easy to imagine the view without those obstructions, just as easy as it was to ignore them because she'd seen them so much as well.

It was hard to not to be even the teensiest amount bothered by how much the city had changed over the past years. To have seen all the green fields eventually dug up to make room for building, to see all the old wooden homes be replaced by giant concrete blocks, to see the population change so much over so little time… It was the quickness of all the change that was the most unsettling.

But the town hadn't 'gone bad' in Cindy's mind. She was the type of person who made friends easily, and unlike a lot of the people who'd grown up here she'd tried to socialize with the people who moved to Raccoon City. They came from different walks of life with different expectations and ways of living, but many of them was nice people who just wanted to make a life for themselves.

Even if the traits of the town she loved had faded over the years, she'd found other things to appreciate. Raccoon City was unique in a lot of ways, and she never would've never had some of the experiences she'd had in her life so far if it wasn't for that.

Raccoon City was odd, but that was part of its charm. As long as you understood that, no matter how much the city changed, it really was a pleasant place to live.

X

While longtime residents watched the changes with some apprehension, the growth had been a good sign for a great many people that had moved to the city for the job opportunities the expansion had brought. Jim Chapman was one such person, a rather skinny man of 24 with bleached hair who'd moved to Raccoon City from the rust belt out east for work.

He'd found employment in the form of the Raccoon City subway system. The Kite Brothers Railway, as it was officially called, serviced about a dozen stops along nearly 10 miles of track that ran beneath the city. Not the most expansive subway system in the world, but it moved several thousand people a day and was the main reason the streets above avoided the congestion one would normally see it larger cities. It was a living, but not one he was particularly fond of.

The South Raccoon Street Station where he worked as an attendant was one of the older stations on the line, and the age showed. It was dark and dirty and just not a good place to have to spend your day. He didn't care much for the uniform either, a collection of blue that included a jacket, shirt, tie, pants, and cap. Employees were at liberty to pick whatever shoes they desired, but Jim was well known by his colleagues for bemoaning how dirty his expensive sneakers tended to get in the subway.

Still, it was a living. A man couldn't turn down what kept him fed and clothed, even if it had it's bad days.

Today turned into a shitty day before he even got into work. The police were swarming the subway entrance he usually used for some reason, making him walk all the way around to another. Always a man to show up right on time and never early, even a full panicked sprint hadn't saved him.

"Ain't my fault the cops were in the way. Shit…" He muttered to himself as he walked along the employee passage to what doubled as the break room and locker room. He just had to retrieve a few things from his locker before he could begin his shift.

Most of the shift workers should've been at their posts by then, so Jim was surprised to see someone else there when he stepped into the room. "Yo, Rick!" Jim waved at the man digging through his locker. The other man was one of the few people Jim got along with, mainly because he was willing to join him in complaining about work instead of being annoyed by it.

"Oh, hey Jim. Thought you weren't coming into work today." The other man glanced back briefly before turning to dig back in his locker.

"Nah, the cops were just all over the east entrance, so I had to come in through the west entrance. Supervisor wants to dock some of my pay, can you believe that shit?" He opened his own locker, picking out a few of the crossword and puzzle booklets he had stored there. They were good for passing the time when nothing else was going on, although he'd been chewed out for it before. He just wasn't going to sit around doing nothing though.

"Yeah, he's in a bad mood. Nearly a quarter of the shift called in sick today."

"No shit?" Jim asked, dreading that he'd have to pick up some of the slack. First it was the murders, then the crime wave, and now it looked like the common cold was spreading around. "Man, I need a vacation."

"You and me both." Rick grunted, digging a little more ferociously.

"What are you looking for?"

"Some medicine I bought for this damn…bite!" Rick started scratching the back of his neck. "Damn thing's gotten worse."

"Still?" His co-worker had been complaining about a bug bite for at least a week now. He'd been checking out the subway tunnels (something they couldn't pay Jim enough to do), and something had bit him from the dark. Rick had insisted it was a giant bug, one that came up to his waist. The others weren't buying it, Jim included, but the story freaked him out all the same. "Maybe you should get a doctor to check that out?" He suggested.

"Might have to." Rick found what he was looking for: a tube of medicine. He uncapped it and squeezed a small amount in his hand to rub on his neck. "You should get going, Jim. Don't want the supervisor getting on your case again."

"You right." Jim nodded. "See you later man, hope that bite heals up." The hobby pieces gathered, he closed his locker and headed out of the break room. He could hear his co-worker cursing about giant bugs and the tunnels on the way out.

At least he'd never have to go down there!

X

While Raccoon City had given a stable livelihood to many, illicit or legal, happiness was not guaranteed. For all the city offered, people still had to find that on their own. Not all succeeded.

The Raccoon General Hospital was one of the many buildings that had been born from the boom at the start of the decade, a modern four story building built specifically to cater to the population's medical needs that had at that point only been provided by small clinics scattered around the city and mountains. The city had made a significant effort to attract and hire medical professionals from all around the world to staff it.

George Hamilton had been one such professional, a well-educated middle-aged white surgeon from the east coast who'd been encouraged to take up a job in Raccoon City. The salary he'd been offered had been a great improvement over the one he'd had on the east coast. And despite living in civilization all his life, George had an appreciation for nature and was quite fond of outdoor activities like camping and hiking. Like a lot of people, Raccoon City had had a lot to offer to, so George and his wife had moved out west.

His wife… A woman he'd genuinely cared for and appreciated. George had settled into this new city well, quickly garnering a reputation as a modest, polite, dependable worker and taking advantage of the city's surroundings to indulge in his favorite hobbies. His wife, although George only realized it now looking back, hadn't done the same. In fact, it was painfully obvious now she'd regretted the move even after agreeing to it. George had noticed the signs, but when questioned she hadn't admitted any negative feelings and George didn't push the issue. Maybe if he hadn't been so mild and did, the issue wouldn't have festered and destroyed the bond he'd held with her for nearly half his life.

Ex-wife was the appropriate term now. There'd been plenty of signs leading up to it: the breakdown in communication, the frequent fights, and her complete disregard to his professional life. They'd been separated since the beginning of the year and now were married no more. The divorce had been finalized just three days ago. She hadn't even wanted anything from him, and was now just living in a local hotel till she could find a way back east.

That feeling of loneliness that had been building since their separation had finally hit him once the divorce proceedings began and was nearly overwhelming now that they'd concluded. He had a six-figure salary, a modest home and vehicle already completely paid off, and countless items that held physical value, such as his watch collection. All of it was nothing compared to what he lost.

With his private life destroyed, George had spent the last year throwing himself into the only valuable and meaningful thing he had left: his career. It was the only thing that gave him satisfaction anymore. The need for razor sharp focus helped him forget his own troubles for just a little while.

But even work had turned stressful. The types of injuries that he usually helped were to be expected for a city like this- industrial accidents, car crashes, and frequently outdoor injuries. He'd treated a rising number of gunshot and knife wounds over the past few years, but those surgeries were standard.

But this month had been bizarre. The first case George could recall had been only on the 15th- a woman who lived up in the mountains and had been attacked by her husband, according to the police, and rushed in. 'Attacked' was too tame a word. The poor woman had had chunks of her flesh bitten off. Despite the unfamiliarity of such wounds, George and the other staff on duty had managed to stabilize her, although she would require hospitalization for a little while longer.

It didn't stop there. For the entire last week, at least one person per day had been rushed to the hospital suffering bite wounds from a fellow human being. George had put all his skills to use, but two of the patients he'd been trying to save had not made it; their wounds simple would not stop bleeding long enough to be mended. Those failures, along with the sheer inhumanity of the wounds he was treating, was putting strain on his mind.

There was a change in the hospital, too, although what they weren't sure. An entire section of the 2nd floor had been cordoned off with police guard since the start of the month. There was talk about patients inflicted with some sort of 'cannibal disease', although details had been absent. That section of the hospital had been extremely busy for the past two days. A colleague who worked in that new section had briefly approached George to question him on his minor virologic knowledge, but had soon after left without explaining. Was the hospital holding cases of some new, undiscovered disease?

But despite how morbid his workplace had become, George continued to put himself headlong into his job. He had an obligation and a duty, one he took pride in fulfilling. It was the only worthwhile thing he could find for himself.

Unless something was scheduled, George spent most of his work days on standby in case someone was rushed to the emergency room, as had been the case the past week. His co-workers were placing their trust in him and his abilities to be the counter for this strange new phenomenon, and he felt no desire to let them down. So when the telltale sound of overlapping sirens from the outside breached the normally quiet sanctum of the hospital, George focused his mind.

He didn't dwell on lost love or his personal conflicts. He was a doctor, a healer, a savior. Cool, calmed, and collected. Whoever came in through those doors, he would do everything in his power to save them. It was his duty, it was his purpose, and he'd carry it out.

X

Raccoon City had a lot of the staples of any big city, an independent press among them. No less than five publications had customer bases in the city's population. They mainly covered local affairs and matters like the weather, although they did tend to dab into national news occasionally.

The Raccoon Press was the largest and most popular of the publications, owning its very own office building downtown where it also did its printing. In the paper's employ was a small cadre of reporters that provided the editor with all the information they needed to make an issue. The paper's success could even be directly contributed solely to them for establishing the paper's reputation for always delivering in depth and shocking news. The second floor where the reporters did their work was always busy, filled with the rapid typing of fingers against keyboards.

One of them, a female, seemed to typing away far more fiercely than any of the others. The blond woman's focus flashed quickly between a notepad beside her and the text document in the screen in front of her, the rest of the world blocked out. Her work station was filled with cut outs of the Raccoon Press' more reputed articles, all bearing her name: Alyssa Ashcroft.

The name of one of Raccoon's most revered (and feared) reporters had been well known since she arrived in town at the start of the decade along with the rest of the new generation of Raccoon residents and quickly became a blight to corrupt people everywhere. In just a few short years, she'd created a list of shamed officials too long to read. Police, city officials, business owners, it didn't matter. If there was corruption, she was determined to expose it. It wasn't much a stretch to say being arrested was the second worst thing that could happen to you in this city.

Unsurprisingly, the rate of corruption in the city had taken a dive in the past few years, and more and more she resorted to more conventional reporting to make her name. That was fine by her, being driven by an almost kleptomaniac desire for information than an actual sense of justice. Although she would privately admit to herself she preferred that feeling when possible.

The only subject worth reporting on now though was the crime wave hitting the city. It was the only thing people were willing to read about now. The police chief had been very quick to claim it was some sort of drug craze, like Los Angeles in the 80s, and they were cracking down on it without saying anything else.

The city's media had jumped on to their words like hungry sharks, publicly asking how they'd let their isolated little mountain city become a center for such things and gauging their response. Alyssa was no exception, although her focus was more on the Department's reckless spending practices. The R.P.D had to be the most well-equipped police force across the nearby states, so how come they couldn't fight this?

At least it was clear this wasn't related to the murders that had been happening in the mountains. For months that was the only thing people were talking and speculating about. Inexplicably, she got a massive headache any time the mountains were mentioned, so it she'd gotten sick of the subject quickly. Even if it wasn't good news per say, she was just glad everyone would talk about something else for once.

"Alyssa." One of her co-workers appeared behind her. She didn't care to remember names. As far as she was concerned, they were all competition for page space and the spotlight. She automatically assumed most men who approached her had ulterior motives anyway- she was drop dead gorgeous, after all!

She made a noncommittal sound in her throat to show she'd heard him, but continued focusing intently on the screen in front of her. "You hear what happened to Ben?" What he said next _was_ enough to grab her attention. She leaned back and spun the chair around to face him. Noticing he had her attention, he went on. "Cops arrested him this morning in the subway. At least a dozen of them! Not sure what for, but he must've treaded wrong."

Ben Bertolucci was the only fellow reporter Alyssa chose to be familiar with, only because he was a threat. She always got the good scoops because she was willing to go that extra mile- not be intimidated, never let up, and occasionally resort to questionable. All of this to the end goal of exposing corrupt people. Ben was the same way, and more than once they'd both ended up racing each other to find someone else's dirty laundry, and creating a lucrative office betting pool. But now he looked like he'd bitten off more than he could chew.

Alyssa's lips curved upwards in the beginning of a smirk. "Too bad for him." She spun back around to resume her work.

"He said he was investigating corruption in the police department." Her nameless co-worker went on. Alyssa paused at that, her eyes darted up to the heading on her article. "They know he works here. Everyone's talking about treading lightly now. You probably should to." He left, thinking he'd left her with some useful and wise advice.

"As if." Alyssa snorted quietly to herself. It wasn't like she gave a damn; she'd treaded on plenty of feet before and wasn't afraid to keep doing it. She opened a separate text file and typed in a new header: CORRUPTION AT THE RPD? before saving and closing it. She still had the current events to report on, but she could come back to that later. What better way to show off against Ben than stealing his story?

X

Raccoon City had a lot going for it and most people appreciated it for the obvious reasons- the economy or the high standard of living. The seedier residents of the city liked it for much of the same reasons. But certain members of each group liked it for a reason few others tended to realize- it was out of the way.

Sure, there was a small town just on the other side of the mountains, but otherwise you could drive the roads for hours and not meet any similar hub of civilization. The state wasn't involved in the city much either. In fact, it was very likely the anyone outside of the city would never know it existed unless they met or were contacted by someone who lived there. There was a strong sense on anonymity to living in Raccoon City.

David King had come here for that exact reason. Despite his rugged appearance, scared face, and unkempt hair, he was one of the city's legitimately working and law-abiding citizens. He could thank Raccoon City's out of the way placement for that; A person's past actions would not follow them here, and people from their past would likely not find them here. Useful for a man like him.

A plumber wasn't a glamorous job, but it was what he had. It made good use of all the handyman know how he'd acquired on his own time. They paid the bills and it kept him from having to rely on others. A double win, as far as he was concerned. Working here did have it quirks though.

Maybe it was from how quickly the city was built and the mix of eras, but Raccoon City had some of the strangest architectural decisions he'd ever seen. He wasn't a man of fancy words, so the best he could describe it was by saying his work space was never dull. Even odder, the plumbing businesses were highly regulated in the city. If you wanted to work city contracts or even some of the local businesses, you needed extra clearances. Since that entailed a background check, he hadn't bothered. The small jobs were enough for a paycheck, so he stuck with them.

"I was just down here yesterday and they were fine! But this morning people kept calling in to say there was no water and when I came down to check they were completely destroyed!" The apartment building's owner, today's client, rambled on to him as she led him down the stairs into the basement. She'd been the first customer to call that day, urgently demanding someone be sent, and David had been the only employee ready at that point. He just nodded as she explained; he already knew how cheap some of the building in this city was.

"I already had the water company shut it off. I think the pipes just need replaced. You can do that, right?" She asked.

"…Yeah." David finally spoke, a hoarse voice that clearly either belonged to a smoker or didn't get used much.

The basement light showed the floor was wet and still littered with small puddles, but the rest of the water had been drained. "There." The landlady pointed to a back section of wall crisscrossed with pipes. She stayed on the stairs while David walked across the damp floor to look for himself.

As he did, something skittered across the floor nearby and the landlady shrieked behind him about the same time he felt something hit one of his boots. He looked down to see a rat angrily squeaking while trying and failing to assail the material with its teeth. It was a pretty damn big rat, too. "Hmph." He swung the foot out and sent the rodent flying a few feet before it landed in a puddle a few feet away.

"I bet those damn things are what caused the damage." The landlady fretted, standing a few steps further up now. David didn't doubt that. He'd had to deal with plenty of the little bastards before and knew the type of damage they could do to pipes- or a man.

He grew slightly skeptical when he reached the pipes though. Rats usually chewed through pipes that were copper or plastic. But these ones seemed to be made of good old solid iron and steel. He'd sure as hell never heard of a rat chewing through those. But the dozens of holes looked exactly like their handy work. He reached out and felt a mark on an unbroken segment of pipe. Feeling an indent not unlike a rat's teeth.

Speaking of rats, the one he'd knocked away earlier suddenly came back over, continuing its vain assault on his footwear. Quickly becoming annoyed, he pulled back his foot and outright punted the other creature across the room where in disappeared into the dark. Going by the noise though, it'd hit the wall.

The landlady made another frightened sound, drawing David's attention back to the stairs to see she was shaking and pointing at the wall. David turned around just in time to notice something moving along a horizontal length of pipe- right towards where his hand was still resting on the indent. He barely jerked it away before whatever it was reached him and jumped back a few feet.

It was a rat. Scratch that- it was the biggest damn rat he'd ever seen. Easily twice as big as his hand and looking odd straddling a relatively small pipe. It's fur was matted with what looked like blood. The ugly vermin stood its ground, squealing angrily at him from atop the pipe. Probably had rabies or something. David looked down and pulled off his glove, noting that there was no marks on his fingers. But there was a new tear in the gloves; that rat had been less than a second away from nailing his fingers.

Staring at the spot the teeth had nipped the fabric, David scowled and reached in one of the pockets on his overalls to pull out a pocket knife. He unfolded the three-inch blade while maintaining unflinching eye contact with the vermin in front of him as it stood up on its hind legs and continued trying to intimidate him.

Then in one swift movement his arm shot forward and the rat suddenly went quiet as the blade plunged into its neck, nearly taking its head clean off. Unconcerned with the mess he was making he pulled the knife out and let the body fall onto the floor.

"Yeah, it was rats." That much was obvious now, although David didn't really care as to why or how they were doing it.

"So…can you fix it?" She asked once the momentary danger in her eyes had passed.

"The replacement pipes are gonna cost you." David responded bluntly. Maybe this was all they had on hand when the apartment was built, but the it was hard to find anything but pvc pipes in the city now.

"Whatever it costs, as long as I can have the water back on tonight." She replied in exasperation.

"It will be." David confirmed. The material was odd, but the actual set up was cheaply made and thus easy to fix. He just had to go retrieve the right parts.

Tiny rapid pattering drew both adult's attention to another large rat scurrying across the damp floor towards him. This time, David didn't even give it a chance- he actively stalked towards it and crushed it underfoot, grinding it into the floor for good measure, much to the client's horror.

"You should hire an exterminator." He deadpanned as he walked past the landlady up the stairs, off to get the necessary tools and parts he needed.

X

Racoon City had all the makings of a normal industrial city once you were within the city limits. But there was more to it, something extremely obvious but at the same time hardly acknowledged. Raccoon City might've been the closest thing to a corporate-run city in the world.

The Umbrella Corporation, to be exact. This pharmaceutical giant that stretched across the entire world and had a worth in the billions had started in Raccoon City three decades ago. The first modern construction had been homes for the company's founder, and after that laboratories and housing in the mountains for research.

Almost all the city's growth could be traced back to those facilities and the hundreds of people Umbrella had brought in to the area. Even the city as it was now could be accredited to them- all but a few of the factories in the city were owned by them. The company donated to the local government, to the police department, and to a few local institutions. 80% of the money that the modernization plan at the start of the decade had used had come from Umbrella.

The city's economy today was dominated by the company. Be it manufacturing, transport, or goods and services, half of it all was inevitably run by Umbrella. Umbrella _was_ Raccoon City. Without the company, there was no doubt the city would've even grown past being a modest village.

Of course, there was a lot of subsidiary companies that kept an illusion of diversity, but when you followed the corporate ladder upwards it always ended at Umbrella. If you weren't the half of the population that was employed one way or another by the company, you'd never notice this. If you were though, you never stopped seeing the company's hold over the city, or the menacing undertones.

Yoko Suzuki, even as a part time employee for the company, could see it clear as day. She was a data entry clerk for one of their offices, but even that position required having a company I.D to reach a secure workspace in the building. Umbrella was an extremely safely conscious corporation, using excessive power and resources to keep their businesses and workers secure. To know people like that held so much power in one place was unsettling to some, her included.

But she was fortunate enough to only deal with it some days, being only a part time job. Otherwise, she was a student at the city's college, Raccoon University. It was national renowned for its medical courses, but Yoko was only there to learn about computers. The machines that were really starting to dominate society were something that she excelled at, although she couldn't really remember where she got her fascination with the machines.

Actually, she couldn't entirely remember the circumstances of her coming to Raccoon City at all. She'd wrote her mother who was living in California about it, and apparently she'd gotten a job offer in this city not long after she finished High School and moved here. Yoko was only 20, approaching 21 next month, so that couldn't have been more than three years ago. She couldn't fathom herself traveling halfway across the country for an average job like the one she had.

There was just something hazy about the start of her adult life. Thinking back to it was always a source of confusion and lethargy for the next few hours, so she tried to avoid doing so. But then it just made her uneasy. The city did too, and not just because of the company that had a stake in it.

But for all the anxiousness Raccoon City caused, she couldn't bring herself to leave. The city was strange, but it had some sort of hold on her, something that she didn't want to leave but didn't know what. It nagged at her, and that's why she stayed; she wanted to find out. Until she did, she tried to live a normal life.

Despite being a Thursday, University classes were cancelled that day, brought on by an excessive number of staff members that had called in sick. So it was a free day for her, at least till her shift later tonight. It was a shame she had little to do or no one to hang out with. The only task she could really find any worth in was responding to a letter from her mother that had arrived just two days ago.

It was written in Japanese Kanji; Though she had Asian features, Yoko actually came from a mixed background. Her mother was Japanese and her Father American. Even after two decades in the states, her mother hadn't bothered to learn English. Yoko had offered more than once to teach her, but her mother hadn't pushed her own culture on her daughter and expected the same in return.

She did write often though, wondering how Yoko was doing. The problem was she never had anything substantial to respond with. The days just passed in either work or contemplation without any variation, often blurring together in long spans. Nothing about that had changed in the last two years. It was often she'd spend more than an hour trying to fathom a response to write, but nothing ever came. She didn't feel like sharing her the strange lost feeling either, thinking it was something for her to overcome herself.

Even though she was in contact with family, she still felt oddly alone, and the feeling was becoming more unbearable as the days went by. Although as it did, she felt resolve building. There _was_ something strange about this city that she wasn't imagining. It had something to do with her too, she just knew. If she could find them, then maybe the city's hold would relent and she could do more with her life. It was that thought that hung in the back of her mind, pushing her forward through the otherwise monotonous days.

She'd find out, no matter how long it took.

XX A/N XX

The rewrite begins. I'm not sure what the endgame will be for this story. The first one was 127k words. I'm hoping this'll be at least twice that. I will warn now updates are gonna be sporadic at best, maybe once a month. But I fully intend to finish this just like I finished the first time around.

Thank you for reading, and please leave a review on your way out.


	2. Prologue II

XX A/N XX

Anyone catch the Resident Evil Outbreak reference in Resident Evil 7? Outbreak fans have been going mad over it. Fanatical bunch, aren't we, going mad over a little namedrop? But that just shows how much we love the game.

And whew, it's no wonder the characterization was so bad in my first version- eight people is a lot to track and develop. I'm relying a lot more on the special items in the games this time to guide me, since that's the best we actually get in the games proper.

X

The Uptown district of Raccoon City, paradoxically on the south side of the city, was Raccoon's main commercial area, the various streets and alleyways occupied by stores and shops of every type. The Raccoon Mall took up most of the space in this part of the city as well. At any time of the day the area was always crowded with shoppers of all sorts, making walking or biking the more effective means of travel than driving.

Cindy didn't have a car, something more than a bit beyond her financial means. She preferred to walk or on some days take the city's tram system. Uptown was only a few blocks from her apartment, making shopping and getting to work an easy task.

Main Street, as the name implied, was one of the city's main thoroughfares, running from the south side of the city north to just short of the suburbs. In was on one of the little side streets that's Cindy's place of employment was located: Jack's Bar, or J's Bar for short.

She knew a lot of people who knew her from church would've been surprised by this, or maybe even shocked. A bar of all places, where it would be argued the city worst residents would gather, seemed the least likely the kindly Cindy Lennox would be. But to her it was just a normal waitressing job with very little actual danger. There were a few bad cases, as in any profession, but the troublemakers were always dealt with. Cindy was on a first name basis with a few of their regulars, many of whom were always decent and polite customers.

The bar itself was situation on a side road between two apartments. Jack, the owner, had come to the city with entrepreneurial intentions and had the bar built from the ground up both close to Main Street and surrounded by potential customers. The first floor held the bar itself. The second floor served as the employee area and was where Jack lived. The third floor was a full store room, stocking liquors and other alcohol from all over the world. A freight elevator in the back was how they received supplies and a forklift had even been moved in to handle stock. A bright neon sign on the roof advertised the bar to where anyone on the highway or just had a balcony could see it. It was definitely not a cheap establishment.

Cindy used her key to unlock the door and stepped inside, enjoying the relief from the chill outside, and locked it back up since the bar didn't actually open till 6 P.M, another hour and a half from now. The employees always arrived early and used the time to clean and prep.

"Oh, Cindy!" She wasn't the first person to arrive; someone else was already here.

"Good afternoon, Will." Cindy greeted her co-worker and the bar's cook. The two of them were responsible for the bar on weekday evenings and sometimes on the weekends if the other employees were absent or business was particularly booming. Will was actually a graduate of a culinary school and was part of the reason for the bars popularity. Some people came here just to eat! He was also a very nice person, Cindy thought.

"Jack isn't here yet." Will informed her as he stocked the kitchen area. "So I might need a hand bringing stuff down from the storeroom."

"Okay." Cindy acknowledged, wondering to herself why her boss would be late; he was normally a timely and hard worker.

It was a quick jog through the staff door and up the stairs to the second floor. Not for the first time, Cindy inwardly tutted at the piled up garbage and other items strewn around the landing. Jack wasn't the cleanest of people, even though he had his employees up here every day.

In the hallway to the left of the landing was the door to the locker room, where the employees kept all their personal effects while they were working. Despite the room being dark and cramped and the lockers themselves dull and rusty, Cindy had decorated hers with some stickers.

Carefully folded inside next to a clip-on case was her waitress uniform- a blue and white striped shirt, a blue vest, a long black skirt, and a pair of high heels. The last item was the reason Cindy kept her uniform here at the bar instead of at home and simply changed before coming to the bar- walking the whole way and back in them would be way too much!

The only bathrooms were on the ground floor, so it was another jog down to change and another back up to store her regular clothes. She returned to the ground floor again with a broom and cleaning supplies to get the bar presentable for the night. As she swept, Will made a few more trips up the stairs to grab stock to bring down. They were both downstairs when they heard the front door being unlocked. That could only mean their boss was here.

"Oh, hey Jack. We were- wha?!" There was a crash as Will dropped whatever he was holding. The noise was enough to make Cindy turn to look.

"Jack!" She gasped in shock. Their boss stumbled through the doorway into the bar, the brown vest he normally wore held to his blood-soaked shoulder. "Jack! What happened to you?!" Hearing the worry in his employees' voices, he tried to stand taller as they came rushing over.

"I was at the Shark's and a riot broke out." Despite the injuries, he sounded only just a little bit irritated. "Some idiot bit me, probably a junkie. He's lucky I didn't shoot him." Tucked in a holster on Jack's right hip was one of the several guns he owned.

"Jack, that's a lot of blood!" Cindy warned him as her and Will followed him up the stairs to the second floor. "You should go to the hospital and see a doctor."

"There were sending a lot of people. If I went I would've been waiting for hours, so I just decided to walk home and fix it myself."

"You walked?" Will asked. The football stadium was in downtown, miles away.

"Well, the bus routes got shut down, so it's not like I had a choice. Look, it's not even that bad." As they stepped into the breakroom proper, Jack lifted his vest off of his shoulder and revealed the damage. Like he said, it was clearly a bite mark. It wasn't rounded, so whoever the attack was had clearly only sunk in one row of teeth. It didn't look that deep. In fact, it probably wouldn't even need stiches. It was a wonder Jack had bled as much as he had.

While her boss started to rant on what had happened, Cindy ducked back into the locker room to retrieve the small case she'd left the first time. It was a homemade first aid kit, something she kept on the premise in case someone, employee or patron, got hurt. It was just a few bandages, a bottle of disinfectant, and a few herb mixtures she'd prepared at home. Enough to patch up minor wounds or give someone who was feeling sluggish a boost. The kit retrieved, Cindy went back out into the break room to treat her boss's injury.

"Don't bother yourself, I got it." Jack held a hand to stop her before ducking into his study and coming out with a white cylinder in his hand- a first aid spray, a very expensive but potent medicine developed locally out of the same herbs Cindy was carrying in her kit. It both disinfected wounds and sped up the healing. Against light wounds, it would even stop bleeding.

Jack popped the cap off and sprayed twice along the length of the bite, watching as it foamed up to form a slight defense against further injury. He looked at the wound and nodded, seemingly satisfied. "That'll do." He decided. "But I think I'm going to turn in early tonight- all the ruckus tired me out."

"Are you sure you'll be okay?" Cindy asked again, eying the wound with apprehension still.

"Yeah, I just need to sleep it off." Jack insisted, heading for his room. "I'll trust you two to run the bar tonight." He reached the hallway before turning around and coming back to them. "Here." He took his gun out its holster and pushed it into Will's hands. "In case there's any trouble makers tonight." He explained to his two wide-eyed employees.

"Uh…Jack, I don't think that'll be necessary." A natural pacifist, Cindy had an aversion to firearms. She recognized that people had a right to own them, but the idea of using them or seeing them used scared her. A few months ago, Jack had ended up shooting out the front door when a disgruntled patron they'd kicked out had tried to come back in with a tire iron. The bar had ended up closing early that night due in part to the police investigation and the fact it had shaken Cindy up enough that she had to go home.

"Just put it downstairs in case Mark and Kevin don't show up tonight." Jack insisted, referring to two of their regular customers- a security guard and cop respectively. The two men had in the past been helpful with unruly patrons. Just having a cop in the place really kept things peaceful, which might've been the only reason Jack had let him run up a tab that had to exceed whatever a cop's yearly salary was. "If something really bad happens, just come wake me up." Without giving them a chance to argue, he turned in for the day, leaving his two employees standing there in a slight stupor.

"I'll…just go put this under the counter." Will said, uneased. He turned and headed back downstairs, holding the weapon out in front of him in both hands. Cindy watched him go, fighting the urge to nervously bite her lip.

 _It'll be fine._ She reasoned to herself. It was only a weekday, so the bar wouldn't be that busy. They'd get through the night, Jack would get his rest, and they'd give him his gun back at the end of the night.

There was no need to get worked up or nervous.

X

"She was upset, but she understood I really didn't have a choice. I do regret it though." Mark recounted his morning while he opened the thermos of tea he carried and poured a cup for himself. He was seated in the security office of a downtown warehouse. Dozens of tiny screens in front of him showed footage from security cameras around the perimeter. The clock showed it was late in the afternoon.

"They threatened to fire me, too." Mark wasn't alone on this shift. Another security guard in the same uniform sat in a chair next to him. His physique almost matched Marks, with the exception of being white and still having a few tufts of whitening hair covering his head. This man was Bob.

He was more than just a co-worker though- he was Mark's best friend. One of the few he'd managed to make in the many years since he'd returned to civilian life. Two men past their prime but far from being out of the fight, two men who'd raised families and watched the world around them change. But most of all was the fact they'd both been to Vietnam.

They'd been there in different circumstances- Bob had been an enlisted Marine while Mark had been an Army officer. But rank and branch didn't separate them. Any men who'd gone to that hellish place, who'd seen the absolute worst of their fellow man, could connect on a level of understanding no one else could. They'd talk for hours on end about many things, all the time understanding exactly what the other was saying. Friends like that didn't come around very often.

Today though, Bob was far from his usual self. He looked pale and his movements had been lethargic. At several points in time when the men had been conversing, Bob would stop talking and slump slightly like he was about to fall asleep before suddenly coming to. Mark was sure he was ill, but much like his employment with the company had been threatened, so had Bob's, thus compelling the man to show up to work sick.

Mark had taken pity on him, and volunteered to both make the occasional rounds and to go get lunch for the both of them. That was the first time Mark had seen some sign of energy in him; he ate all of it before Mark had even gotten halfway through his, and for the hour or two following, Bob had been his normal amiable self. As their shift drew to a close though, Mark could see him starting to slow again.

Mark knew his friend lived a little short on money occasionally since he helped support his children and grandchildren, and wondered if he hadn't been eating well recently. Despite being nearly as portly as Mark, that wasn't safe at either of their advanced ages. He could outright ask, but that would've been rude, so Mark tried an alternate approach.

"Hey Bob. Why don't we go grab a bite to eat after our shift is over? My treat." Mark offered. "I know a bar in Uptown that has really good food. There's a bus stop just down the road."

"Huh?" It took his friend a moment to understand what he said. "Sure. Thanks, Mark." His buddy nodded.

"Alright then." Mark nodded, pleased.

"You know…" Bob started a moment later. "I've been thinking. Maybe it's time I retired."

"You? Retire?" Mark was surprised by his friend's sudden admission. They talked about a lot of things, but not once had they discussed that subject despite a person's 50s being a good time to start. As far as they'd ever agreed, this was as good as retirement- a nice job with flexible hours and nice pay, a decent city to live in, friends and family close by.

"Yeah… I've started to realize I'm getting pretty old, and this city isn't what it used to be. I just thought I should start looking a moving somewhere quieter, take it easy." Mark shook his head and patted the other man on the shoulder.

"You're just feeling a little under the weather, Bob. I guarantee once you're feeling better, you'll crack up at what you just said." Bob smiled at him. Mark was a good man. A wise man, a strong man even still. But he was a stubborn man too, willing to admit he was old but never willing to admit he could slow down or was any weaker. Obviously he'd never do the same things he did when he was younger, but he tried to stay active in other ways, find new hobbies.

"Maybe." Bob laughed despite still looking weak.

"See?" Mark patted him on the shoulder again. "You'll be fine. Don't worry about it." He glanced at the clock. "Another hour or so and we're done. Just keep your head up, Bob."

X

Even though it had its bad days, being a cop was a good gig. Pay wasn't anything special, but the job had other benefits: staying in shape, having a comradery with your fellow officers, and seeing some truly crazy stuff that you could tell at bars and gatherings for the rest of your life were just a few of Kevin's favorites. The pride at helping people too was a benefit Kevin enjoyed, although a lot of people doubted it from his behavior. But it was in earnest, as was his love for the profession.

The paperwork involved, though, could go fuck itself. All three raids that morning had gone great- they'd arrested eleven people, seized around 30 firearms and at least 80k in drugs and cash, and now probably had leads on other perps they could bust. During the course of their second raid though, Kevin had ended up shooting one of the suspects when he reached for a gun. It had only struck him in the arm and not killed him, but Kevin had still shot him. That meant he had to put in extra paperwork on top of the normal reports because of police accountability, civil rights concerns, and a whole bunch of other crap he didn't really care about.

Kevin had his own desk in the east wing of the R.P.D's central station- his own little piece of solitude, covered in magazines, knick-knacks, and a computer he didn't use all that often. The department had gotten them about two years ago for better record keeping and Kevin seemed to remember someone telling him at one point all the amazing things they could do, but he was an old-fashioned guy. The only complex machine he was interested in was car engines.

The station was a weird building. Apparently, it'd been an art museum a few years ago till the city bought it, but even then they'd kept some of the exhibits. Kevin had taken a lot of walks around it when he'd first started and had been stuck on the nightshift. You could see the places the walls had been knocked down or rooms that had been repurposed, but walk through some doorways and it still seemed like you were in an art gallery. It was a good break for when boredom kicked in.

Kevin looked around the room, noting for the first time the wing was almost empty; he only spotted on other officer on the other side of the office. The whole building seemed quiet, now that he thought about it. The R.P.D worked in three shifts- 10 P.M to 6 A.M, 6 A.M to 2 P.M, and that to 10 P.M again. The last one was the busiest shift, when they had almost 200 officers on duty. It wasn't even 5 yet, so what was the deal?

"Hey, Jean!" Kevin waved his arm to get the other cop's attention. "Where is everyone?" Jean was just one of the many friends Kevin had acquired from his time in the patrol division, particularly when he'd always gotten stuck with the night shift. A quiet guy, but decent.

"Huh? Oh, there was a call about a riot at the Shark's game about an hour ago. They were calling in officers from all three stations. Pretty sure they sent a S.P.F team too."

"No shit?" Kevin hadn't seen a riot in this city yet. There'd been one a few years back when the city's economy was still in a slump, but he hadn't been around then. "This city has gone crazy recently."

"Yeah." Jean agreed. "You ask the guys who've been here since the beginning, they'll say the city should've stayed small."

"Would've been boring, then." Kevin pointed out, rising from his desk and lazily walking over to the fridge in the corner of the room. His own shift as a S.P.F officer would be over as soon as he finished his paperwork, something that required spending the rest of it at his desk, so a small drink wouldn't hurt. Jean pretended not to notice.

Kevin returned to his desk and had just sat down when one of the far doors flew open and heavy and hurried footsteps echoed in one of the connecting hallways before someone turned into the office.

"Good afternoon, Chief." Kevin waved as soon as he noticed the figure. Raccoon City Police Chief Brian Irons didn't respond, but stalked right past and out the other side of the room, door slamming behind him. "Must be having a bad day." Kevin commented as he and Jean watched the offending door. The guys on the beat had to wonder how bad things really were if even the going ons were even making the chief irritated.

The slamming door had the effect of rattling and room and causing one of the items on Kevin's desk to tumble off. He reached down picked it up, his shooting trophy from this year's competition. 2nd Place, right behind Chris Redfield, one of the few surviving S.T.A.R.S members and the department's best shot four years running, a result of military experience. Kevin had asked himself many times why the Air Force needed good shooters when they just blew up everything with planes.

He swept the distracting thought from his mind. He really did need to finish all this paperwork.

Between the extra work and just plain laziness, it was another two hours before Kevin had everything filled out and submitted. Jean had left over an hour ago to return to patrol, leaving Kevin completely alone. The silence seemed to stretch throughout the entire station. Hell, even the station's captain and the lieutenants overseeing the shift had left. That riot must've really spun out of control. Kevin had slight reservations about clocking out, but the higher ups had been bitching about all the overtime they had to give out as it was dealing with the months long crime wave. If they really needed him, they'd reach him.

He'd obviously turned in all his gear after getting back to the station, but he was still wearing the base S.P.F uniform- a dark shirt and pants with the letters R.P.D prominently displayed on the front of the former item. It had gloves, but he'd tucked those in the pockets for now. It was the new patrol uniform for members of the S.P.F in case they were called to duty while on the beat. There was talk of it becoming the new standard uniform, too. He still had his M1911 in its leg holster- it was his sidearm and he was free to take it home.

Not that he was going right home. It had been a long day. A man who worked as hard as him deserved some relaxation, and that meant drinking. There was a bar in Uptown, J's Bar, that he liked to frequent, although the liquor was only the secondary attraction next to the waitress that worked there on weekdays. Kevin's flirting hadn't gotten him anywhere with her, but that wasn't really a reason to give up. Besides, success or failure, he still got drunk.

As he walked across the parking lot to where officers' personal vehicles were parked, he noticed someone pulling in before the occupant left and started walking towards the building, something unusual this hour of the day. But as he walked closer, Kevin realized he recognized the new comer.

"Marvin!" Kevin waved at the man who'd been his sergeant when he first joined. A cool guy, calm, collected, and always watching out for everyone. He was the one who trained all the new recruits that came in. "What are you doing here? I thought you had the last shift?"

"I did." The older man explained. "But they had to call some more higher ranks to help manage things."

"The Sharks game?" Kevin guessed. Marvin nodded.

"Yeah. I heard they still got the whole area blocked off. It's a real mess. You done for the day?"

"Yeah, was on a couple of raids this morning. Figured I'd get bitched out if I tried to get in anymore hours." Marvin nodded. "I was just about to hit a bar and relax." His former superior frowned at that.

"You know, you probably would've made S.T.A.R.S if you didn't have that habit." He pointed out, deflating Kevin's ego somewhat. "But then we all would've missed you." Another hit. "Don't stay out too late, Kevin. Odds are they're going to be calling in more officers later and the shifts are all going to get messed up. We'll need people on their toes."

"Right." Kevin said, humbled. "I'll take it easy tonight. You too, Marvin. Don't let them overwork you."

"Don't tell me. I volunteered to come in." Kevin grinned at that. Like he'd said, a dependable guy. He patted the other officer on the shoulder as he walked past and the two men went their separate ways.

His car was a dark blue Plymouth Road Runner. He'd bought it at a car auction a few states over a couple of years ago. There'd been a lot of good cars at the auction, but his one had just spoke to him, and he had to have it.

Kevin climbed in and leaned back in the first comfortable seat he'd had in a few hours and just breathed in the familiar leather scent of the interior for a few moments. He'd driven this car in a couple of amateur races, he'd taken it on road trips, and it had been a comfortable enough bed for nights he was too drunk to drive home. This car was his baby, something he took pride in. It could always relax him after a hard day.

Lamenting on that fact and with Marvin's words still in his head, Kevin cracked open an eye to glance at his glove box. He reached open to open it and pulled out the item on the top of the contents- a worn letter that had clearly been opened and folder many, many times. It was his rejection letter from his last attempt to join the S.T.A.R.S unit. For a man that blew off inconveniences or total calamities equal casualness, it was odd he'd get hung up on one thing, especially something that didn't even exist anymore.

He'd sure as hell been a lot more enthusiastic before that had happened. Even going so far as to daydream about it. After though, his thoughts had been more cautious. Though he had no idea what it had been, he wondered if he could've survived the event that destroyed the unit. Redfield and Valentine had survived, as had the team's weapon specialist, Barry Burton. Like them, Kevin was a good shot. But another of the survivors had been Chambers, a girl that couldn't weight 100 pounds soaking wet and had only just gotten out of college- no combat experience what so ever. Had it just been luck, then? The S.P.F hotshot mulled over it.

"Well, I'll never know now." Kevin admitted defeat, although not quite getting over it as he refused to discard the letter. He leaned back over to put the it back into the glove compartment, pausing when he noticed something- it was empty aside from his registration and other paperwork. He usually kept his gun in there, a Desert Eagle .50 caliber. Made a hell of a sound and took a chunk out of anything it fired at, something to a man of his tastes. But where was- Oh right, he'd took it to his desk when he'd come in this morning.

"Ah, damnit." Kevin swore, not looking forward to having to walk his ass all the way back into the building. He wondered if it he should just leave it. He'd be back here tomorrow anyway. Besides, he still had his .45 if he absolutely needed a gun. He weighed the options. Go grab his gun, or just head for the bar? Just head for the bar, or go grab his gun? Grab his gun…or go the bar and see the waitress again?

Kevin started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. He'd survive a night without it. Again, he was coming back tomorrow.

X

George pulled his car into his driveway and shut off the engine. The doctor slumped forward in his seat, weary.

The day had been a nightmare. He'd had been on call when the hospital suffered from an influx of patients before, but none of those cases compared to today. _Dozens_ of injured had been rushed in over the course of a few hours. Police and civilian, with injuries ranging from burns to concussions to the same cannibalistic horrors that had become common recently.

His day had been a chaotic blur, time after time he'd been rushed from patient to patient to help stabilize the worse injured. As large as the hospital was, it wasn't before long that it reached its maximum capacity. But even then more had arrived, simply because unlike the smaller clinics, they couldn't close their doors.

Him leaving hadn't been voluntary. Rather, it had been insisted upon by his co-workers with assurances the tide had stopped and George had done enough. That had been a lie, as ambulances had still been coming in even then. But he'd wasn't willing to confront them on their lie.

George suspected it was worry on their part- he had been working exceptionally long hours recently. That wasn't anything unusual for a surgeon like him, but even his hours not working were stressful and far from the recuperation he should have been getting. As much as he hated to admit it (even though it had probably played a part in destroying his marriage), he'd let his person life and work life mix, and they all knew the trouble he was going through.

Was it genuine worry for his health? Or worry of the hospital's accountability? George wouldn't normally think with such pessimism, but he was a very different man then he was months ago.

Going home wasn't even going to help him.

George looked up at the suburban house in front of him. It was the best real estate in the city- pricy (not an issue to him) but far too big for just one man. But George knew he couldn't just sit in his car all night, so, without much effort in his steps, he trudged up the driveway and through the front door.

In contrast to its owner, the house hadn't drastically changed in the past few months. It looked just as it had when George's life was on track.

A mockery, really.

He hadn't brought himself to removing all his wife's things she'd left behind, although he wasn't sure why. All they did was remind him of her, but at the same time he didn't want to forget.

He was starting to question himself more and more about that. With all the reflection on his life up to this point, he was starting to realize that his wife hadn't exactly been the perfect woman. When they'd met in college, she'd been kind, smart, attractive in more ways than one. But he realized now how she'd never really seemed to be excited for him when he excelled in his workplace, showed interest when invited to functions related to his work. He couldn't even recall a time in the last two years where'd she'd even asked him how his day had been.

George realized he bared some fault for how things turned out, but he could realize now she'd contributed as well, far more than he. Combative at the slightest instance of something going wrong. Never wanting to resolve things even when George attempted. That woman hadn't been good to him or for him.

He felt guilty for thinking that. He was stuck between resenting her and dearly missing her and the good times that had one existed. Sitting slouched in his living room while that internal battle raged was something that took up a lot of his evenings recently.

And what was there in the future? Was he just going to be alone for the best of his life? It wasn't as if he had much free time anymore to meet new people. Is that something he even wanted to do?

His life had fallen apart, and the future was uncertain. And yet George couldn't pull up the energy to make a real effort to reassure himself. The mildness that had wrecked his marriage was threatening to do worse to his whole life. He was in a self-destructive little rut.

He sat at home for barely half an hour before deciding he didn't want to deal with the bad memories and made a call on his home phone. Around twenty minutes later, a taxi pulled up to the front of the house.

"Where to, mister?" The driver asked as George climbed in the back.

"A bar." George replied. "Any bar will do." George couldn't give an exact destination because he didn't know of one; he wasn't a casual drinker. He'd drink at social occasions, and might keep some form of liquor at home for special occasions, usually scotch, but it was far from a habit. Admittedly, it had almost become one in the past few weeks. But tonight, George did not wish to stay in a house that only reminded him of unpleasant memories.

The driver glanced back, possible reading the trouble on his face before shrugging and starting to drive. "That's an expensive looking suit." He commented as he drove out of the suburbs. "You looking for somewhere high-class?"

"Just anywhere that serves hard alcohol." He responded.

"I know a place." The driver assured. Despite the other man's attempts to engage him in conversation during the drive, George's responses didn't allow for much continuation. He was polite enough to respond, but he really wasn't in the mood for a sustained conversation.

For tonight at least, he just wanted to do something to forget one side of his life had fallen apart and the other was growing shabbier by the day. The roads were surprisingly uncongested for this time of day. If it hadn't been for the echo of sirens that seemed to be drifting over the city, George might've even found it peaceful. As it was, it only served yet another bitter reminder to get rid with alcohol.

X

" _Corruption of all kinds has become common place in Raccoon City in the past decade. More than twelve police officers have been prosecuted for corruption in the last three years."_ Alyssa wrote the article in her head as she walked. A full day of work had allowed her to complete her critical examination of the R.P.D and have it submitted. It would be on one of the early pages of tomorrow's issue. Now she had turned her intentions towards stealing Ben's thunder. The fact finding could start tomorrow, but she was already working on the introduction in her head as she walked home to her Uptown Apartment.

Alyssa's reputation as an unrelenting reporter wasn't unfounded. Aside from exercise to maintain her flawless figure and the necessities like food and sleep, she really did spend all her time in pursuit of information. She even had a at home work kit, currently tucked into a bulky padded and waterproof case slung over her shoulder. A laptop, voice recorder, video camera, conventional cameras, and an abundance of writing material and utensils made it so she could not only work at home, but capture anything that she happened to stumble across. It had happened before, and she wasn't a woman to be caught short.

The laptop was the most valuable and expensive item, one she held a close interest to. Technology was changing, and journalism with it. The internet was rapidly becoming a key tool of the trade, one even the presses in their little town was starting to use. The potential audience of online journalism particularly appealed to her. People all over the country, even the world, could read an article with her name at the top someday. THAT was fame right there.

The little smile that crept onto Alyssa's lips at the thought faded as she rounded a street corner and noticed a figure in a trench coat slumped against the wall of one of the apartments. A bum, certainly. They weren't as common in Uptown as the rest of the city, but they still showed up sometimes. She gave the figure a wide berth, right hand hovering close to her pocket where she kept a stun gun. But they didn't even move as she walked past.

Safe from that potential danger, she let her mind continue to work as she walked, a slight itch forming in her fingers from the action. Walking to and from work was good cardio, but it left her restless sometimes when she had a good story writing itself in her head and couldn't get it to paper (or text document in this case). It was particularly bad this night, just because it was her rival she'd be usurping.

Alyssa recalled always passing a bar and grill on her walks to and from work, although she'd never actually gone in. Too ratty a place for her, but it did mark when she was about fifteen minutes from getting home. She wondered if it was worth stopping in for just a few minutes to get an early start, get the itch out of her fingers.

 _Pop. Pop._ Alyssa froze where she stood, tense. Anyone in a big city recognized the sound of gunfire. She did too- she'd taken self-defense courses, although her own gun stayed at her apartment. _Pop. Pop. Pop._ There it was again. Someone was firing at someone or something, maybe only a few blocks judging by the sound. Cops? Gangsters? A domestic dispute gone tragic? Alyssa was hungry for interesting stories, but she had enough preservation instincts to avoid obvious danger. She started walking again, this time at a much brisker pace, and decided she would take a break at that bar she'd seen. It was a chance to get started on her next article.

And stay safe.

X

"Man, fuck this job." Jim stretched his worn muscles as he stepped above ground for the first time in many hours. He was gonna get some overtime pay for today, but that didn't keep him from complaining. The damn shift supervisor had had him doing about ten different things throughout the day and running around the entire station. He hadn't even had a chance to do one page of his crossword book! "And it's already dark out, shit."

Not for the first time since he'd come to Raccoon City, Jim thought about the ups and downs about it. Compared to most people he knew where he'd come from, he was damn lucky. He had a job (even if it sucked a lot sometimes), a place to live, and had some friends. If he'd stayed back out east, he might not even still be around- life was rough.

Jim was a lucky dude. REALLY lucky. He'd had enough lucky breaks over his life to convince him of that, the least of all that he'd managed to get out and make something decent of himself. But he might've relied on luck a bit much- a person could get careless or weak if difficulty did nothing but miss them. Jim certainly met some of that criteria. Like today, luck wasn't always on his side, and this city certainly had its problems and obstacles.

Aside from that, it was a nice city and all, but it was really out of the way. You started to feel isolated if you looked around and realized there was only wilderness around you. It also kept them behind the times- Jim had a hard time getting new shoes or merchandise from his favorite sports teams because they didn't ship to many (if any) of the stores out here.

But still, he had a living. And even if he bemoaned some of the issues, this city in the middle of nowhere still had a sort of small-town feeling to it that he really liked. He probably never would've gotten a life this sweet if he'd moved anywhere else. He'd bitch and moan about all the little nuisances, but that was part of his personality. He'd stick around here for as long as he could.

He wondered if it was worth getting a few beers before going home. Catching a game of sports on the tv and maybe fill out a crossword or two he'd been denied by work. It was Thursday and he was almost through his last paycheck. Unless anyone got better, he'd probably be doing the same work tomorrow, or maybe even more. Not a good idea to have a hangover. But he was definitely getting a lot of overpay this week. That meant he could indulge himself, maybe get a new pair of shoes too. If he knew he'd have money in pocket, what was the harm in spending a little now? Then again, if he went straight to his apartment he could stretch out on his couch and watch some reruns till The Dave Show came on later tonight. Either would top off the day.

"Hmm… Ah!" Jim stopped to reach into his jean pockets and pulled something out: a dollar coin. It was both a keepsake, something his mother had given him when he was little, and a lucky charm. He used it to make decisions when he was unsure. Matters as big as a card game with money on the table or something as simple as what to get for lunch. Whatever result he got always seemed to be the best possible one too.

"Alright, heads, I hit a bar. Tails, I go home." Jim flipped the coin in the air, ignoring the other few bystanders on the street who gave him an odd look. Expertly, he caught it in his hand as it came down and opened his palm.

Heads.

"Sweet!" Jim stuck the coin back in his pocket. Looks like it was the bar tonight. As he changed course for Uptown, he wondered if he'd get any sort of lucky break tonight. Find a 20-dollar bill on the ground? Maybe meet a fine-looking woman at the bar? Ah, he was sure he'd find something. He had a good feeling about tonight.

X

It had taken all day and had required dozens of trips up and down stairs, two to stores, and dealing with even more fucking rats, but David had gotten the apartment's water pipes replaced and working. He wasn't going to complain about it- you did hard work, you got paid for it. That was his belief, one of the many conservative ones he held.

Maybe that was another reason he liked this city- it was old fashioned. He didn't have to live here; he was a man of many talents and an avid collector of survival books. If he wanted to, he could gain the same isolation from the world this city offered by simply living off the land. But even to a loner like him, there was something drawing about civilization, something he wasn't quite ready to kick.

Having dropped the company truck he used back at the lot, he was walking home now, probably the most peaceful part of his day. He lived in one of the more worse parts of downtown, the closest thing a city had to a slum. It wasn't what most people would call fine living, but it was sufficient. That was good enough for him, and he was willing to defend it with his life, something he was increasingly convinced he'd have to resort to as the city's crime problem kept getting worse.

But David was in for a rude shock once he reached downtown. Police cruisers and officers were blocking two of the streets, effectively locking down a whole block. It just so happened to be the block his apartment was on. David stopped when he saw the barricade, part of his reaction being attributed to a natural avoidance of cops a youthhood of run ins had bred and the rest to look at the rather large crowd assembled in front of the barricades. David recognized at least a few of them as being fellow tenants.

What the hell was going on? Trying to avoid the crowd, David approached the barricade. Almost immediately, a cop stepped in front of him with hand outstretched. "Sorry sir, this area is closed off."

"For what?" David asked. Aside from sounding rough, his voice always seemed to have a tone in it, or so people he spoke to told him. It wasn't hard to see the officer's posture get more defensive.

"There's been an incident. We can't let anyone enter or leave."

"I live there." David pointed to the apartment in the distance. Were they honestly trying to keep people out of their homes? At night? In this weather?

"I'm sorry, sir. You're just going to have to wait." The officer repeated. The asshole stood there, secure in the power his uniform held and uncaring for the lives of the people he was inconveniencing. David scowled, but didn't argue further. There was no point in causing a confrontation and getting himself thrown in jail for the first time in over a decade. So he just turned and stalked away.

Now what? He obviously wasn't getting home any time soon, and wandering the streets in a pissed off state wasn't a habit he intended to return to. He'd have busy himself with something for a little while. It looked like living right didn't preclude a person from having to deal with assholes.

"I need a drink." David muttered.

X

The bus was late.

Standing at the deserted bus stop in Uptown, Yoko couldn't help but feel the slightest bit vulnerable. It was already dark out, and the street completely deserted.

Her work day had been normal, although less people than usual had showed up. For some reason, she'd disliked the grind even more today. Why she worked for Umbrella was another mystery to her- she hated the job. The excessive security, the arduous work, and for some reason the company uniform really bothered her. For the last few weeks she'd took her backpack to work with a change of spare clothes in it, in case she wanted to change right after clocking out.

But the thought of quitting had never been under serious consideration. It wasn't for practical reasons- she was at school on a scholarship (although how she'd gotten that, she couldn't recall either). Something in her gut just told her to stay. It was frustrating, but she stuck to it.

Minutes passed, and the bus still hadn't come. She knew their routes ran till midnight. A new bus should arrive every 15 minutes, but Yoko knew she'd been standing there for at least half an hour. She'd seen a bus pass on the street when she left work, so where were they now? She was getting annoyed, but also a little uneasy.

This wasn't the first time something like this had happened. A few months ago, a fire had shut down several roads between Uptown and Downtown, delaying the busses for several hours. She assumed if she just waited long enough, the bus would eventually come. But with the weather being as chilly as it was, she didn't look forward to such a wait.

There was a bar just down the street from the bus stop. Yoko had gone there the last time this had happen to use the restroom, and it had ended up as one of the few interesting moments she could recall in this city

There'd been a cop drinking there, still in uniform, surprisingly. He must've been more than a few in, cause he'd ended up spilling his drink on her as she passed behind him. Yoko had been less than pleased, obviously. But the cop had been surprisingly apologetic about it, even giving her a handkerchief, which might've been more surprising. Actually, although she wasn't sure why, she'd still been carrying that in her jean pockets, the same pair that was in her backpack with her spare set of clothes.

When she had come out of the restroom, the cop had again apologized to her and offered to buy her a drink to compensate, something Yoko had refused because of her age and the simple fact she didn't like the idea of drinking. So he'd offered instead to buy her some soda that the bar had stocked for mixed drinks while she waited for her bus. For whatever reason, she'd allowed him.

And for the better part of half an hour, they'd talked. The cop, Kevin, had introduced himself with more charisma and self-worth than she'd expected of a man who wore his uniform to drink. But he'd been polite enough to ask her about herself, too. Once she'd mentioned she was studying computers, she'd caught his interest the topic had dominated the rest of their conversation. With two years of study and more than a dozen read programming books under her belt, Yoko was more than able to answer many of the questions he had, and he'd listened. It'd been nice to see someone so attentive to her intelligence.

Actually, it was the longest conversation Yoko could recall having with another human being in years. When she thought about it like that, she felt…bad, or at least that was the closest word she could think of. She'd even been a little reluctant when she realized that she should probably get back to heading home. It was weird, especially since she made every effort to avoid talking to her fellow employees at work or classmates. He always felt like dealing with other people was a distraction, although from what she couldn't name. Thinking about it created the same foggy effect she hated so much.

Would that cop be there again if she headed down there tonight? It was extremely unlikely. She wasn't even sure why she was considering it. Just to give the handkerchief back? That was decent human behavior, wasn't it?

Another long glance down the street showed no sign of the bus. She pulled on the uniform collar again, trying and failing to ignore the discomfort. Another moment passed and she'd sighed.

Standing here wasn't going any good for her, and her uniform seemed particularly annoying tonight. She'd go take a break, get changed and maybe something to drink. If that cop was there or not didn't really matter to her in the long run. As long as she was doing something other than standing around.


	3. Outbreak I

XX A/N XX

Well, this has been dead a while. It's been difficult. I had this chapter nearly done months ago, but my computer crashed and I lost it all. I repaired it, started writing again. Then it crashed again beyond all repair and I lost the chapter rewrite. So I got a new computer a few months ago but I haven't been in the mood to rewrite so much.

But I saw the Resident Evil 2 Remake trailer, and words cannot describe how hyped I am. My drive is back. The previews thus far have even showed a couple of references to the Desperate Times scenario in File 2- Rita and a file about the tunnel escape plan.

X

The bar was surprisingly busy for a weeknight. Cindy spotted most of their regulars, including Mark and Kevin, thankfully. Mark had even brought a fellow security guard along with him. She'd had a quick word with both about Jack being ill and how she'd appreciate it if they could lend them a hand if anything happened, and both had assured her they would. It put her mind at ease.

Mark was sitting at the side of the bar, eating a salad. Though he'd never be as fit as he was in the Army, he'd decided to make an effort to keep his body at least a little healthy. Beside him though, the bar in front of Bob was empty. The other security guard was resting his head on his hands.

"Aren't you eating anything?" Mark asked. He got no response. "Hey, Bob." He nudged his friend. "Where's your mind at?"

"What?" The other man said blearily as he raised his head. "I'll order in a bit, Mark." He assured. Mark watched his worry as he laid his head back down. He'd really thought some food might help his ill friend, but that didn't seem to be the case. If he wasn't feeling better in five minutes, Mark would take him home, he decided.

Before returning to his meal, Mark scanned the room. No one was acting up and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. His eyes narrowed when he saw the cop at the front of the bar, Kevin, he was sure the man's name was. It wasn't the first time he'd done it either; he'd seen the man in here many nights drinking and running his mouth still in uniform. Disgraceful.

Kevin had actually noticed these glares but didn't care for the opinion of who he thought was just a fat old rent-a-cop he could run laps around. He'd even brought another old dude along tonight, who by the looks of it couldn't hold his drink. Just great.

Otherwise, he was enjoying himself despite going easy on the alcohol like Marvin had told him. His flirting wasn't getting him anywhere again, but he wasn't a man to get let down by a few failures. Eh, another half hour or so and he'd go home content.

There were two large barrels situated near the front door that had chairs around them for patrons to sit at. Jim was at the one closest to the door, scribbling in his crossword book with an open bottle of beer beside him. He hadn't looked up at any of the other patrols and was just enjoying the atmosphere.

David was just keeping to himself at the front of the bar too. He didn't make a habit of coming here in his work clothes, but this was one of his preferred spots to relax. The usual patrons were the kind he was sure he wasn't going to get into a scrap with, although the cop that liked to run his fucking mouth got on his nerves most nights. The waitress was way too outgoing and cheery too, but she'd long since given up trying to engage with the loner. The place had some good alcohol and he could drink by himself. That was all he really wanted.

Cindy had taken note of two new faces in the bar as well.

Alyssa was seated at the other barrel at the front of the bar, laptop open in front of her as she typed away. A bottle of mildly expensive champagne sat behind her. This place had an 80s grunge look to it she didn't like, the patrons didn't look like people she'd normally associate with, and the waitress was a perky blond who couldn't look more like a bimbo, but they had a damn good stock of alcohol. She could work on her next accomplishment AND celebrate it at the same time.

Besides, she'd spotted a cop in the bar (an S.P.F member in uniform no less!) having a few, flirting with the waitress whenever she came by, and running his mouth whenever he could. Must've seen himself as a real cowboy. Alyssa was always looking for new sources. She was figuring she could hang around for a little while and wait. Maybe the cop would run his mouth and say something useful after he'd had a few and the prettiest girl in the room came up to him.

George wasn't in any better a mood then he'd left home in, despite having a few glasses worth of hard alcohol in him. He'd felt a little out of place stepping into the establishment, but no one had paid him any mind. The waitress had been kind and warm to him though, so he'd perked up out of politeness. Alone with his thoughts though, he resumed his previous persona.

For whatever reason, the surgeon's thoughts turned particularly malicious. It took two people to make a marriage work. And again, she hadn't been committed to making it work. In fact, now that he thought about it, it was like she intended things to fall apart, the bitch. George cooled as soon as that thought passed his mind. He shook his head and took another sip of alcohol.

Yoko stopped in the doorway when she entered, not quite expecting the bar to be as full as it was. Looking around she noticed that cop was before was here. Well, what of it? She couldn't track down that train of thought again. Why had she come here again in the first place?

"Hello." The waitress came up to welcome her. There was a notable curiosity in her voice, probably from realizing Yoko didn't look undoubtedly old enough to be in here.

"Just here to use the restroom." She mumbled quietly. The blond woman nodded in understanding and when she spoke her voice was more jovial.

"Back there behind that wooden wall." She pointed towards the back of the bar. Yoko went without even a thank you. She felt much safer when she passed through the door into the cool interior that blocked out the rock music and kept her hidden from the few curious glances from patrons.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and she remembered: she'd come here to change out of her uniform. She unslung her backpack and carried it into one of the stalls. When she emerged a few minutes later, rather than her Umbrella uniform, she was wearing blue jeans and a green sweater over a black shirt. It felt much less constricting, but as she approached the mirror and set her bag on the counter she couldn't help but feel there was still something unsettling about her appearance.

What was it? Why was it every time she looked at her reflection it looked both familiar but at the same time unfamiliar and off-putting? She raised a hand as if to make sure it was really her own image. Her eyes drifted to her hair, long enough to just extend below her neck. Had it always been like that? Something about it seemed off… Yoko reached into a pouch on her backpack and pulled out a small pair of scissors.

Outside, things continued as normal. Cindy had retrieved an empty bottle from Jim and was walking back to the bar to get a new one when she noticed a rather large rat scurry by her feet. She shrieked and stepped back, the empty bottle tumbling from the tray and breaking on the floor.

"Hmm?" Mark grunted and looked over his shoulder at her.

"Sorry!" Cindy said in embarrassment. Will had noticed and grabbed a broom from behind the counter to deal with the pest. It past by Kevin unscathed.

David noticed the rodent running towards his feet, intending to slip past. After the day he'd had though, he wasn't going to let it. As it passed, he swung his foot forward, catching the rat and crushing it between a steel-toed boot and the bar. Its last noise was sharp squeak before David let it drop to the floor.

"Sorry, sir." Will apologized before sweeping away the body. David just grunted and took another sip of his drink.

All the patrons continued what they were doing. The tv in corner blared out a news report about a riot earlier in the day, but only Kevin and Alyssa turned an ear to it, and only briefly. No one noticed when the broadcast went out and was replaced by static a moment later. The rock tune on the jukebox ended shortly after too. For a brief time, there was silence in the bar.

That was broken by the front door creaking open. Out of habit, Cindy turned to greet the new arrival, but stopped and gasped when she caught sight on him. Kevin, Mark, and David were close enough to hear her and turned to look too.

A ragged looking man was standing in the open doorway, half slumped over with his head down. His hair was matted and dirty and his clothes stained with something they couldn't tell. Jim was closest to the man, and as soon as he caught a whiff of him he gagged and grabbed his stuff before jumping up.

"Damn man, did you shit yourself?" He quickly retreated, but his outburst had drawn everyone's attention to the shaggy stranger now. Alyssa was getting up too, looking disgusted.

David turned back to the bar. So a drunk hobo or junkie had wandered in; it was someone else's problem. Mark shared his assessment but was far more concerned. "Who is this guy?" He asked out loud. He didn't notice Bob behind him start to slide off the seat until the man crashed to the floor. "Damnit!" Mark swore got up to help him. "He's unconscious." He realized. "Bob?" He tried to wake his friend.

On the other side of the bar, George noticed the older man collapse and rose to go help. He passed behind Cindy and Will, who were staring at the strange looking man; he hadn't moved an inch since coming in.

"Will, I don't like the look of that man." Cindy fretted as her co-worker joined her. Will had to agree there was something off about him. Behind them, Kevin had turned to watch the old dude take a tumble and got up as the bar employees talk.

"Want me to take care of him?" Kevin asked them, hand already drifting towards his sidearm. Will was the more senior of the two, and he really didn't want the situation to escalate into a brawl. Besides, the man looked like he might be hurt.

"Let me ask him if he's okay first." Will turned down the cop's offer and reluctantly started to approach. He had to gag as he did so; the man smelled horrible, his bowels being far from the only source probably. The smell was likely going to hang in the doorway all night now. "Excuse me…sir? Are you okay?"

Bob was beginning to stir by then. George had introduced himself as a doctor, and Mark had explained his friend was just feeling ill and he intended to take him home immediately. Cindy and Kevin had turned to watch the two men lift the portly ill security guard into a sitting position when it happened.

The stranger lifted his head and Will caught a glimpse of his face, recoiling in horror. It was bloody, with bits of skin flayed and bleeding. His eyes were rolled back and vacant. The lower part of his face was covered in drool. His opened his mouth to moan, showing ugly stained death. Will took a step back, but the man suddenly lurched forward.

He seized the bartender's shoulders and brought his gaping mouth down on them. Before Will could question the man's action, he bit down with inhumane force. Will screamed out in pain as the man jerked his head back, tearing off a chunk of flesh with horrifying ease. The bar descended into chaos full of screaming, cursing, and everyone jumping up.

"Shit!" Kevin swore and reached down for his gun. With a little buzz going, his fingers fumbled. By the time he'd drawn it and was approaching, Will had gathered the strength to push the man back and onto the street and close and lock the door.

"What the…hell…was that?" Will questioned as he sunk down before falling back.

"Will!" Cindy dropped beside her wounded co-worker. Kevin braced the door. Behind them, George had been momentary stunned by the horrific act in front of him. He quickly regained his wits and joined the waitress beside the wounded man. "Oh, my God." She could see blood running down the front of his uniform.

"Will, you doing okay?" Even as the words came out of his mouth, Kevin realized they were stupid. "Stay with us, buddy." Damnit! He'd really dropped the ball. This shouldn't be surprising; he'd been seeing the reports of druggies biting people for weeks. He should've confronted this freak as soon as he walked in.

"Excuse me, I'm a surgeon." George introduced himself. "May I see?"

"Of c-course." Cindy stuttered, stepping back, hands trembling. She suddenly remembered. "I have a first aid kit behind the bar!" She stood up and run to grab it, passing the two security guards as she did.

"Mark, what's happening?" Bob looked over to see his friend in a trance, staring at the scene in front of them. At some point, he'd drawn his Beretta and had it pointed to the floor. "Mark?" Bob repeated, finally making the man start.

Mark grunted in acknowledgment and stood, adjusting himself so he was holding his gun in a two-hand grip but keeping it pointed at the floor. "You alright?" He didn't take his eyes off the scene in front of him.

"I think so…" Bob said, but his legs felt weak and he didn't try and stand up.

It was around this time Yoko peaked out from the restroom, curious at what all the noise had been. When she was the blood and drawn guns, she quickly retreated inside. Whatever was going on, she was going to wait it out and not get involved.

Cindy had grabbed her first aid kit, but in her haste spilled it and knocked Jack's gun to the ground. She stuffed it all back in without much thought and hurried back to Will's side. By then, George had examined the wound. The attack hadn't severed any artery that he could tell, but it had removed a frankly terrifying amount of flesh and left a hole that was still bleeding profusely.

"This man needs urgent medical attention." He informed the cop. "I'm afraid he won't last long otherwise." Cindy came back and pulled a large bandage from her bag. With shaking hands, she tried to put pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding. George put his calmer and steadier hands atop hers to help.

"Right…" Kevin muttered. He was mulling his options. A quick glance outside showed him the guy that had bit Will was still twisting on the ground like a turtle on its back. He didn't have any cuffs on him, but he was probably well within his right to go out and keep the son of a bitch down and shoot him if he tried to get back up. He was just reaching for the door lock when one of the patron's frantic screaming caught his attention.

"Out front man, look!" Kevin craned his head back to see two more men rubbing their bleeding faces along the bar's prominent front window, clearly looking at all of them within. They looked just as shabby as the first and were no doubt under the same influence. Okay, fuck that. Kevin wasn't an action hero- there was no way he was going outside to deal with three of these guys on his own.

"Anyone got a phone?" He called out to the bar patrons. "We need to get to police down here!" From the way they glanced at each other, it was apparent no one did.

"There's one upstairs!" Cindy realized.

"Then go make the call." Kevin tensed as the man outside finally managed to get up. "And wake up Jack if you can!"

"O-okay." Cindy nodded.

"I'll keep pressure on the wound." George assured her. The waitress looked unsure but withdrew her hands and let the surgeon take over. Her steps were uneven at first, but she was soon running through the staff door and up the stairs to the second floor.

"Don't fucking press me, buddy," Kevin yelled loudly as the attacker stumbled back towards the door and landed heavily against it. Even as Kevin waved his gun threateningly, the son of a bitch outside started pounding on the door, and other two soon joined him. The cop braced it with his shoulder to stop it from caving in.

"Just shoot them!" Someone called from the back of the bar, the same voice that had pointed out the other two. Kevin was considering the action, but that tiny rational part of his mind warned him against it. All the reports going around the station said these cannibals could take a lot of rounds before going down. He had one magazine of .45 and he didn't expect it to split evenly between three guys who were right on top of him.

Besides, Jack might add the cost of a new door to his tab.

"This is crazy." Reactions among the three patrons at the back of the bar were mixed. Alyssa was the type of woman to be the first on the scene of something, not an active participant. She had some human standards too; she wasn't going to film a man bleeding to death on the floor of a bar.

"Fuck man, fuck!" Jim was pacing back and worth. "I should've stayed home instead of getting caught up in this shit!" He didn't realize the other two people weren't listening to his ramblings.

David hadn't said a word. Instead, he'd backed up and not so discretely snagged a large knife from the bar's tiny kitchen. Even if there were two guys with guns between him and the freak show outside, David was NOT going to be caught short when there were people with obvious hostile intent.

While this was all happening, Cindy had reached the second floor and ran into the bedroom calling her bosses name. She stopped in the doorway when she realized it was empty. The bed looked like it had been recently disturbed. Jack had an office on the other side of the floor where he took care of business. He must be over there.

"Jack!" Cindy yelled as she darted into the break room; the door to his office was at the end of the hallway. "Please hurry, there's been an emergency downstairs!" They had a landline against the wall, just a few feet down from the office door. Cindy picked up the receiver and quickly dialed 911 and held it against her hear, the emergency at the tip of her tongue. Seconds passed without an operator's response before Cindy realized there was no tone; the line was out.

"Oh no." She murmured to herself. What was she going to do now? Then she remembered: Jack had a cell phone! She ran to the office. Cold air greeted her as she stepped inside; the office had a balcony and the door to it was wide open. "Jack?" Cindy called as she stepped forward. Then she heard it, drifting in from outside: screams and gunshots, distant and close, but very numerous.

What was happening in Raccoon City?

"Jack, are you here?" Cindy leaned out onto the balcony and gasped. Her boss was sitting slumped in a chair. From the light above, she could see his wounded shoulder was dark red and a horrifying large puddle was on the ground beneath him. The wound must've reopened, and he obviously suffered blood loss. But was he unconscious…or worse?

"No..." She held her hand to her mouth. She should've insisted he'd gone to the hospital when he'd come back to the bar. "I'm sorry." She approached; she knew he kept his cell in a pouch on his belt, usually right next to his gun holster. "I'll call for help, I promise."

Her boss twitched, making her jump back.

"Jack?" Cindy asked hopefully. He began to stir. "Oh, thank goodness, I thought you were- aah!" She shrieked and stumbled back as Jack's head jerked unnaturally quick to look at her. It was pale and his eyes looked like they'd rolled back in his head. He titled before collapsing onto the concrete floor but quickly rose. Seeing him standing there in the light, Cindy realized his posture was unnatural and…and almost exactly like the man who'd attacked Will.

She could only watch, speechless and horrified, as her boss stretched his arms out and stumbled towards her, mouth agape as he let out a harsh moan. Her reflexes kicked in and she ran away, leaving Jack to stumbled and fall behind her as she rushed back downstairs.

Downstairs, everyone was holding their ground- Kevin at the door, George beside the wounded bartender, Mark in front of his friend, and the rest as far away from the men outside as they could be- when Cindy came running back in. She'd only been gone around three minutes.

"You call the cops?" Kevin yelled at her.

"No. The phone's out!" Kevin resisted the urge to curse. "Jack has a cell phone, but…but…" The blond woman looked to be on the edge of hysterics. "Somethings wrong with Jack! He looks like the men outside!"

"What?!" Kevin asked. That didn't make any fucking sense; he knew Jack. That man would never use drugs. So how the hell could he be like those men outside?

"When I went to get his phone, he tried to grab me." Cindy explained. "He's still in his office upstairs." Unsure what to do now, Cindy fell back beside her co-worker to try and help save him. The bleeding had barely eased.

"Goddamn it." Kevin grit his teeth. If the phone was out, they couldn't call for help. Jack's cell phone might have a signal, but they couldn't get it. And how the hell did he end up like the guys outside? Kevin could go upstairs and try and get the phone himself, but that would require leaving the door, and he was sure it would break down before he even reached the stairwell.

Unknown to Kevin, Mark had made the same connections and noticed the cop's dilemma. Old instincts and training kicked in and with a visual sweep of the bar room a plan formed in his mind. Kevin was broken out of his frustrating quagmire by a barking voice.

"I'll keep this area secured, you go investigate upstairs!" It was the security guard. Kevin noticed for the first time he was armed too.

"Excuse me?" Kevin balked at being ordered around. The man didn't answer. He went over to the barrel Jim had been sitting at earlier and picked it up. Kevin stepped back as the man approached and loudly planted in front of the door with a thud. "Holy shit." Kevin remarked he went to grab the second barrel. It was doing better at holding it than he had; the door was barely rattling in its frame. Why hadn't he thought of that?

"I'll keep watch here." The man repeated when he'd fortified the door with the second barrel. Kevin scoffed. This guy was just a civilian. To be honest, he couldn't tell if the hard gleam in the old dude's eyes were determination or a senile episode. But what Cindy said couldn't be ignored, and the guy was armed…

"Fuck it." Kevin muttered and pointed at the older man. "They get in, you fucking shoot them." He started backing away. "I'll be back down as soon as I can." He assured Cindy and started running towards the stairway to the second floor. He thundered past the other three, who, aside from Jim whose ranting had become more incoherent, were the same as before.

Yoko was still hiding inside the bathroom. She'd backed up against the wall, as far away from the door as she could manage. It was the only spot she couldn't hear the yelling outside. She was scared; her heart was racing. _Why does this seem so familiar?_ There was a crash behind her and something banged against the back of her legs. Then something seized both her ankles.

Outside, Alyssa, David, and Jim were the only ones to hear her scream; the noise at the front door deafened the others. David was the only one who moved to investigate, although his decision was more fueled by concern for an uncontained threat than whoever had screamed.

When he opened the door he saw a woman on the floor near the wall. Two arms had shot out of the vent and were gripping her legs, keeping her from getting away. "What the hell!?" Alyssa appeared behind him and caught sight.

They moved forward quickly. Alyssa grabbed Yoko's hands and pulled as David stepped around. Alyssa worked out daily, but whoever this was wasn't going to give up either. David raised a boot up high and brought it down hard on one of the arms and heard a satisfying crack as he did so. The arm released its victim, and Alyssa easily pulled Yoko from the other one.

"Get up, missy." Alyssa yanked the younger woman up and let her stumble against the counter for support. "Is someone in there?" She asked incredulously. Keeping his distance from the hands, David stepped back and leaned down to look in with a small flashlight he kept in his belt.

Behind the vent was what looked like a crawl space to the plumbing under the building. A woman had somehow crammed herself in there and looked to be trapped. David's eyes met hers, blank and almost lifeless. Her unbroken arm and hand clawed at the floor, like she was trying to move forward despite the fact the vent was far too small to fit through.

"This freak isn't getting in." David stood back up.

"You sure about that? Hey!" Alyssa snapped at him when he passed the two women and went back into the bar. Jim looked at him hopeful for news nothing else was wrong.

"What's going on back there?!" The security guard at the front called.

"Nothing." David called back. His voice was rough; he didn't raise it very often. Yoko wasn't far behind him, arms wrapped around herself. She stopped and stared at the bartender laying wounded on the floor and the door that was threatening to break.

"There's some crazy lady in the vents!" Alyssa called as she came out. "Tough guy here says she can't get in though." She jerked a thumb at David, who didn't react.

"She okay?" Mark called, referring to Yoko. The short Asian girl recoiled a bit under the gaze of several strangers.

"Yeah." She nodded, although only the three people nearby could hear her. She put her apprehension aside; she'd have to stick by these people if she wanted to stay safe.

With a quick bound up the final steps to the 2nd floor, Kevin spun around, .45 pointed in front of him. He'd been up here a few times, either to play darts or once or twice to have a chat with Jack about his tab. He knew his way around. He checked the bedroom first, finding it empty. He had to be in one of the other rooms.

"Jack?" Kevin called down the hall, getting no response. He cautiously advanced, scanning the wider breakroom with his gun as he exited the hallway. The door to Jack's office was wide open, cold wind and distant noise drifting out. "Jack?" Kevin called more loudly. "It's Kevin. You alright in there?" He waited against the wall for a response. Five seconds. Ten seconds. Fifteen seconds. Nothing. "Shit." He muttered to himself.

He swung into the doorway, aiming left and right for a threat. His eyes immediately caught sight of a figure standing in the window above the desk. Someone was on the balcony, standing weirdly with their head slumped to the side. Just like that freak that had come in.

Keeping his back to the wall, Kevin inched over to the doorway and out onto the balcony. It was definitely Jack, but not in good shape. The blood, the paleness, the posture- he really looked dead on his feet. Kevin never took his eyes or gun off him, but he lent he ears to the noise outside. Screaming, gunshots, pure fucking chaos. Something was going on out there, but Kevin wasn't sure anymore it was just the riot.

Jack just stood there, oblivious to the cop's presence despite being less than 10 feet away. Kevin knew what was likely to happen if he got the bar owner's attention. "Jack?" He ventured. The man raised his head, fixing a blank gaze upon him. He immediately shuffled over, arms outstretched and mouth gaping.

"Shit." Kevin squeezed the trigger. A .45 round struck Jack right below the nose, his face coming apart in a bloody mess as he fell back and hit the ground. He didn't get up. Kevin still didn't take his gun off him as he crept forward and looked down at a man he'd known for well over a year. Decent, hardworking, but not a pushover. Friendly too. And now he was dead after trying to attack both his employee and Kevin, the second crazy in less than an hour.

What the fuck had happened?

Muttering a quick apology, Kevin reached down and grabbed the cell phone from Jack's pocket. He flipped it open and stared at the screen. NO SIGNAL. Kevin growled and let it fall to the concrete.

"Fuck me."

Downstairs, the situation hadn't improved. The door was rattling even more now, and a few of the glass panels had already cracked while Mark continued to stare down the hoodlums outside. Despite George's best efforts and Cindy's pleadings, Will was getting paler and paler. The rest of the customers were stuck watching the front of the bar in apprehension or for Kevin to reappear from the stairway.

Then it happened.

The hinges holding the door gave in. The door pitched forward and fell to the side. Most of the people in the room screamed as the three intruders bumped into each other trying to climb over the barricade. "Don't come here!" Mark warned, taking aim. The middle man leaned over and swiped at him. Mark didn't hesitate to fire, the 9mm bullet striking him in his head and knocking him back onto the street.

"Shoot them! SHOOT THEM!" Jim shouted hysterically. The man on the left was attempting to climb over the barrels. Mark turned and fired off five rounds into his back. As the assailant fell face first onto the floor, so did the last of the trio. He reached over and grabbed Mark's leg, stretching his head to try and take a bite. Mark stepped back and started firing rounds into his back as well.

What the security guard hadn't realized is his shots hadn't killed the second intruder. Bleeding from the gunshot wounds and apparently forgetting the use of his legs, the sick looking man raised his head and started crawling towards the injured Will and his caretakers. Cindy screamed and George and her tried to move Will away. The third intruder neutralized, Mark turned and fired even more rounds into the second's back, stopping only when the last round was expended, and the slide locked back.

The man moaned weakly, stretched an arm out towards Cindy, George, and Will, and finally collapsed face down on the floor. Like an automatic machine, Mark ejected the empty magazine and replaced it with the spare he kept on his belt. The incident had lasted less than twenty seconds, leaving one dead on the street and two on the bar floor. Blood pooled everywhere, and the room smelled like death. With the doorway opened wide, the distant sounds of war drifted in for the first time.

"Will?" Cindy's timid voice broke the silence. All eyes turned to the barkeeper being held up by her and George. Whereas he'd been conscious before, his head now lulled to the side. His chest wasn't moving. "Will?" Cindy asked again, more desperate. George lifted the man's arm and felt his wrist, and his face fell. As Mark walked over, the doctor gave him a sorry shake of his head.

Kevin came bursting back into the room as Will's body was carefully laid onto the floor, gun raised and cursing all the while.

"What the hell happened here?" He demanded.

"They breached the door. Spent a whole magazine to kill them." Mark explained.

"Blood loss." George summarized, standing and finally taking note of the blood stains covering his expensive suit. Cindy stayed kneeled by her co-worker's side, in shock. "Have the authorities been contacted?" George went on. All eyes turned to Kevin. He gave an agitated shake of his head.

"No. I don't know what the fuck is going on out there, but nothing's working." It wasn't hard to see concern and panic spreading across the other patrons' faces. Jim moaned loudly as he sunk to his knees.

Kevin crossed the floor and leaned over the barrels to look both ways down the street. In both directions, he saw freaks stumbling around. He wasn't going to doubt they were like the ones that had just broken in. Or Jack.

"Shit." He muttered again. He was the cop here and he was in uniform- that meant he had to take control of this situation. So much for an easy night on the town.

Alright, fuck. Focus. There was no way this wasn't being noticed. Rest of the R.P.D would get here in force sooner or later. That meant they just had to stay safe till that happened. They sure weren't going to be that down here with a busted door.

"Okay, listen up!" Kevin turned around and barked, acting more professional than before. "The police will be responding to this area soon. This is an active crime scene now. I need everyone safe and out of the way. There's a break room upstairs, I want everyone up there till this shit is under control." Everyone shared an uncertain glance and most of the civilians slowly started moving, David and Alyssa last among them. George offered a hand to Cindy and pulled the still stunned waitress to her feet, saying something about washing their hands before proceeding. "And stay out of the owner's room!" Kevin called as an afterthought. Cindy flinched at his words but kept letting George guide her. Kevin turned to Mark, still standing like a sentry near the front door.

"You put a full magazine into these guys?" Kevin was looking at all the bullet holes.

"Yeah." Mark nodded, not apparently fazed by the three lives he'd just ended. "First one took a shot to the head and went down immediately." Kevin figured no son of a bitch was tough enough to survive that. But multiple close-range shots to the back? These guys had to be on something. Acid or PCP maybe. At least they weren't a threat anymore- the old man had seen to that.

"Good shooting old timer. Get your buddy then go upstairs."

"Huh." Mark grunted by way of response, slipping back into an irritable old man. He holstered his gun and cast a noticeable glance at Will as he passed to grab Bob. If George was right, nothing Mark could've done would've saved him in the end. Still, that they had a casualty hit him. But he had enough experience to power through it. Kevin was getting through by professionalism, but he didn't miss that he knew this person, that this was someone he'd known damn near personally. But he took solace in the fact he'd been avenged. That would do for now.

"You killed them." Bob rasped as Mark returned to him. During the confrontation, he'd tried to stand and fire his own gun but couldn't manage the strength to do it.

"They didn't leave me a choice. C'mon. I'm still going to get you home. Or maybe a hospital." Mark grabbed his friend's arm and pulled him up. He started to shoulder his friend across the bar towards the stairs. George and Cindy were about to head up the stairs, Kevin behind them. When Cindy noticed the two older men, she hung back.

"I'll help them." She explained to Kevin.

"Fine, but hurry it up." He ordered the three before hurrying upstairs to make sure everyone else was safe.

"Thank you." Bob managed as Cindy got on his other side to help him along.

"Cindy, I'm sorry about what happened." Mark consoled.

"It's…okay." Cindy was clearly trying to power through her shock too. "You saved us. Thank you." Them moving Will had probably been the shock that killed him, but she was trying her hardest not to think about that. The night had gone so terribly so quickly. Her friend and boss she'd known for so long were gone. She didn't have a job anymore. It was so overwhelming she couldn't comprehend it, but she was very grateful Kevin and Mark had taken charge.

The two didn't notice the frail man between them look back, nor did they noticed the way his eyes widened with horrified shock.

"M-Mark." Bob gasped. A gurgling moan behind the trio made them freeze. Mark and Cindy both looked back, expecting to see another person at the barricade. But it wasn't. It was something shocking, something impossible, something utterly terrifying.

Will had gotten back up.


End file.
